


Integration

by Veebot



Category: Freakazoid, Kim Possible - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veebot/pseuds/Veebot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9 years have passed since he last set foot in D.C. and in that time Dexter Douglas strived to forget his tumultuous past. Now, the time has come to face his demons as well as succumb to a power far greater than he could imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Letter

August 15, 2004

_Dexter,_

_It's been quite some time since your father and I have heard from you. We've tried several times to reach you on your home phone but you never seem to be there. We don't know your cell phone number and we couldn't find it in the phone book so we figured you had it privatized to keep the telemarketers at bay, which I certainly don't blame you for. I'm not very good with computers or e-mail so I figured that good old fashioned postage mail is the only thing that seems to reach you successfully. It's better than talking to an answering machine._

_I hope your boss isn't overworking you sweetie, you're too young to be so stressed. You ought to let yourself take time to relax and enjoy life instead of having your face glued to a computer screen 24/7. It's not healthy._

_It's just that Doug and I worry about you. After you graduated from High School you were in such a hurry to leave for college. Don't get me wrong, it pleases me to know that you're so eager to learn and excel yourself but at the same time, it felt as though you'd disappeared as though you never existed at all. Nevertheless, I didn't write this letter to criticize you because I know how much you hate that though you know I do it out of love._

_Some of your old high school friends still ask about you, you know. Just the other day I crossed paths with Freddie Benson at the grocery store, you know, that sweet boy from the chess club? I'm sure you remember him. Anyway, I recognized him while shopping for produce and just had to go and say hello. He's doing well for himself; he's married and has a baby on the way! He gave me his number and address just in case you wanted to reach him later on. I've left it written on a 3 x 5 card in the envelope with this letter. You should give him a ring sometime, I'm sure he'd be happy to hear from you._

_Freddie asked about you and I told him what I knew, which wasn't much, I'm afraid. You're so private with your life, dear; it's hard to tell what you're doing with yourself and when I do get you on the phone its like pulling teeth to get you to stay on the line for longer than five minutes. We miss you terribly. I call Duncan quite often to check on him and even he's beginning to wonder about you and you know how he is about losing track of time with his, whatever it is he does these days. Contrary to popular belief, he does miss you; he just has a hard time expressing himself._

_You do realize that I've been trying to get you to come home to visit for ages now but you've never taken me up on the offer. That's one thing you and your brother do share in common. The fact that the both of you are so wrapped up in your lives that you forget about the more important things like family. I believe it's about time I broke my silence and say that it's a fine time that the two of you come home? I've never asked for much from either of you and I wanted the four of us to be together again, just like old times. I'm sure you've accrued some vacation time with all the hard work you've done._

_Oh, I can hardly believe that come the first of September it'll have been 27 years! It seems like it was only yesterday when I brought my darling baby boy home from the hospital, all six pounds and seven ounces of you. You were so tiny and precious. I wanted to hold you forever!_

_Your upcoming birthday is just the excuse I need to get you away from the hustle and bustle of the city. A breath of fresh suburban air should do you some good! So, I'm asking you, from the bottom of my heart for you to humor this old woman and spend a few days with me. It's been nine years since I've had the pleasure of spoiling you and I'm not about to let another year go by in your absence._

_Please, Dexter. Come home._

_Love,_  
Mom  



	2. Chapter 1: Turbulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This is turning out to be quite an adventure, albeit it a challenge to remain focused when I already know where the story is going many chapters ahead of now. To those who have already commented on the prologue, thank you for your support. I’m not particularly popular so the few comments I do get are highly appreciated. It gives me courage and great pride to know that you’re eager to know more about an otherwise regretfully small fandom. Enjoy.

Dexter Douglas stared at the letter in his hand and laid it flat on the tray table, smoothing the heavily creased parchment as best as he could. He’d worn the bloody thing to death from constant folding and unfolding it to peruse his mother’s thoughts as though reading it over and over could possibly tell him something he didn’t already know. He must’ve read it a hundred times. It was the most significant thing his Mother had ever said to him in the nine years since he’d left. Sure, she’d sent him dozens of letters, greeting and birthday cards with checks (which he never cashed).

There were also the occasional calls to his Seattle townhouse when he was ever home to actually pick up the phone. His mother hadn’t failed to remind him of that fact and was thankful for not giving her his cell phone number for fear he’d never have any peace.

For whatever reason, nothing she’d ever done or said had ever struck him quite as strongly until now. In the past he’d never taken her opinion into account on anything as she was less-than-reliable and oft to prattle on incessantly. Mother never made much sense and even when she did, no one took her seriously.

He took a sip of his coke and scanned the cumulus cloud tops outside his window. He didn’t really know what to say. He hadn’t the first time. Perhaps it was shock, possibly confusion. She was such a perplexing character. So much of the time she seemed oblivious if not naïve to the going’s on of the modern world. Hell, the woman still believed Eisenhower was president and the man passed away in the spring of ’69. Even his father, who was dumber than a box of rocks, often wondered if his wife had completely lost her marbles since their marriage.

Dexter pinched his brow and suppressed the urge to sigh his exasperation aloud. It was hard thinking when it came to the subject of his mother. Selective hearing and delusions of grandeur were a few among several dysfunctions that came to mind. He shook his head. It was better to leave it alone otherwise he’d be spending the rest of his life trying to figure her out and his mind was already filled to overflowing.

He couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt so compelled to heed her request. Maybe it **was** guilt. No. Not maybe. It was guilt. She was good at that. Like a goddamn con artist. The woman knew how to pull your heart strings when it mattered and after nearly a decade of resistance he’d finally caved in. The moment he called to confirm his itinerary and heard his mother’s grating shriek of joy, he knew there was no turning back.

The company staff actually _insisted_ that he take a little vacation time from his immaculate attendance record. Moments away from boarding his plane he panicked and rang up his secretary with a number of excuses of why he should be there. Beth informed him that they could manage well on their own for a few days to allow their workaholic boss a little free time. After all, he always gave everyone off on their birthdays and it was about damn time that he did the same for himself. Then she told him to get on that plane or else and promptly hung up on him.

Everything had gone smoothly after boarding. He’d taken his seat in first class, ordered a drink and buried his nose in a book. Usually, it was easy to drown out the typical sounds of drills whirring, engines humming, and overhead compartments clicking closed, but today he failed to do so. While a blond flight attendant depicted safety procedures, he'd read the same paragraph three times before abandoning the novel entirely.

Following the brief interlude of the Captain’s final announcement for departure, he fished his mother’s letter from the carry on stashed under his seat and read it again while the plane taxied the runway.

One meal and an in flight movie later were ultimately spoiled by the distress of an impending family reunion. Not only would he have to contend with his parents but at the last minute his mother informed him that Duncan would also be joining the fray. He wasn’t thrilled, to say the least. By some miracle, he managed to hold his tongue, not that it did any good for the petulant voice of his alter ego.

Freakazoid was no fonder of their ogre of an older brother than he and nothing short of the threat of suicide kept him silent.

Dexter hurriedly claimed cellular interference and hung up on her before the colorful string of expletives spouted abruptly from his mouth. He’d scolded himself for the lack of restraint and in return, received an acceptably heartfelt apology.

His "alter ego" had been decidedly quiet since then and Dexter, unused to the lack of internal commentary, gave the man a mental nudge.

‘ _Hmm-wah?_ ’ was the voice’s drowsy reply.

‘ _You awake Freak?_ ’

‘ _I am **now** …_’

‘ _Sorry ‘bout that. Are you doing okay in there? You’ve been awfully quiet lately._ ’

‘ _M’just tired_ ,’ Freakazoid complained. ‘ _Lemme sleep. I don’t bug you when **you** sleep._ ’

‘ _Now if that’s not the biggest fib I ever heard… You wake me up all the damn time!! How many times have I come to and found myself pumping iron or jogging on the treadmill? Hell, the other day I almost snorted up a spoonful of oatmeal because you insisted that you were starving and couldn’t wait the extra thirty minutes for the alarm clock!_ ’

‘ _Tch’heh that was friggin’ hilarious too… You know it’s not my fault you woke up in the middle of breakfast. I had a handle on things. You could’ve just passed right back out but nooo you **had** to have your way! Next time I’ll eat rice crispies. Those’ll go up your nostril way better, and then we’d **really** be having some fun._ ’

‘ _…ha ha, **very** funny…_ ’

‘ _You suck at sarcasm, you know that?_ ’

‘ _Yeah well, you suck in general._ ’

‘ _Ah, them’s fightin’ words! En Garde!_ ’

Dexter’s right hand flew up as if suspended by a puppet string and smacked him on the chin. “OW!” he cried. “That HURT you MORON!”

‘ _Be careful who you’re callin’ moron, **moron**. I’m not the one everyone’s staring at because he’s talking to himself out loud._ ’

It was at that very moment Dexter became aware of the several pairs of eyes boring holes into his skull. He chanced a glance at the row of seats across the aisle and blushed furiously at the stern faced executives eyeing him suspiciously. He sagged in his seat and tried to look casual, praying that no one would assume he was some kind of raving lunatic. It didn’t take much to make people nervous on planes these days.

The men grunted and returned to their mundane activities, deciding that the glare of death had sufficed to set the four-eyed whippersnapper in his place.

Dexter broke into a smile as his hand rose on its own again and gently stroked his chin.

‘ _Sorry, Dex. I thought I was holding back enough but I guess I don’t know my own strength anymore. …Didn’t mean to hurt you._ ’

‘ _Hey, s’okay buddy. It’s all good. You were just being funny.’ He felt the warmth of his other’s smile and chuckled softly. 'I know we’ve been talking about this for years now but we really should practice a little more restraint in public._ ’

‘ _I know_ ,’ Freak said sheepishly. ‘ _I always get carried away and lately, I’ve found it a lot harder to hold back…_ ’

‘ _I’m not an invalid you know. I have the ability to control my actions but I allow myself to go along with it too. Remember, it takes two to tango, even if it’s just a serious case of multiple personality disorder._ ’

Freak snorted, ‘ _For the love of- What do Doctor’s know? They think everything they can’t explain is a disease and people like using that crap as an excuse to blame all their problems on._ ’

Dexter cleared his throat to signal that he hadn’t finished.

‘ _We’ve had this talk before_ ,’ Freakazoid added snappishly. ‘ _We're a freak of nature and the chip gave us super powers and dual aliases. Point taken. Can we get some more coke now?_ ’

Dexter rolled his eyes, ‘ _Oh, alright._ ’

The instant Dexter’s fingertips grazed the surface of the call button a sudden tremor shook the hull of the cabin and almost at once the entire plane felt as though it had dropped several feet. People who weren’t secured by their safety belts rose violently from their seats as if lifted by an invisible hand, sending everyone into a panic.

‘ _Hold on Dex!_ ’ Freakazoid shouted. ‘ _…Just a bit of turbulence!_ ’

‘ _Just a little?_ ’ Dexter ground out.

‘ _You know, if we crash, there’s always Superman or someone else who’s bound to save us_ ,’ Freakazoid offered.

Dexter swore a blue streak when his cup tipped from the tray, scattering ice cubes on his lap. ‘ _Superman is a fictional character you loon!_ ’

‘ _I’m TRYING to be optimistic!! Now chill out! There’s always a solution. I’d never let anything happen to us! I **swear**!_ ’

‘ _You’re fanatically optimistic at the most inconvenient moments!!_ ’

‘ _Ah, but you **love** me for it! We’ve been through worse, you know. Remember when we had to save President Clinton in mid flight through a terrible storm? The plane was low on fuel and the landing gear was as stuck as a canned ham!_ ’

‘ _Right… Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying NOT to visualize crashing to our deaths._ ’ He stiffened his spine and gripped the arm rests, hoping that nothing serious had befallen the plane’s mechanics.

As if on cue, the seat belt indicator lights flicked on and the pilot’s voice spoke calmly over the PA system. He urged all passengers to please remain calm and stay securely fastened for the remainder of the flight. They were encountering unexpected turbulence due to a collection of storm cells one hundred miles outside of Dulles International.

The plane swayed and shook, making several of the more sensitive passengers reach for their barf bags. Not a moment sooner, he greened at the sound of someone retching from a few rows behind him.

‘ _Statistically, flying is still the safest way to travel._ ’

Managing to hold down his lunch, Dexter replied, ‘ _I know that and it’s also the fastest. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever like it and this certainly isn’t helping any. You on the other hand are tough as nails. Nothing ever seems to bother you._ ’

‘ _’cept poo gas_ ,’ Freak quipped

‘ _Nobody likes poo gas_ ,’ Dexter agreed.

‘ _Prezactly._ ’

Dexter arched a brow, ‘ _…What?_ ’

‘ _You know, the slang term of precisely and exactly. Prezactly. It’s a spiffy word I found on the Urban Dictionary website. If you don’t believe me, look it up._ ’

‘ _Why am I not surprised?_ ’ He groaned.

‘ _Well, what else do you propose I do in my spare time? We rarely go super anymore and being that I’m an incarnation of the net, it’s only practical that I surf around and keep myself occupied so I don’t die of boredom. My knowledge is limitless and so would yours if you’d ever bother to tap into it._ ’

‘ _It’d be too easy to cheat with the knowledge of the world at my disposal and I prefer living honestly._ ’

‘ _Remember during College some of those finals you stayed up all night studying for?_ ’

‘ _Uh, yeah, how could I forget? I woke up several hours later during the exam and you were already half way through it._ ’

‘ _And I told you to put your happy ass back to sleep. I like feeling useful and you busted your hump studying for it so I helped you ace it. It isn’t considered cheating because I am you so my brains count too. We share the same mind and I want you to be successful too, so forgive me if I want to lend a hand every now and then. As a team, just look at how far we’ve come! How many twenty-six year olds do you know that single handedly achieved the vice presidency of a major software conglomerate?_ ’

A smirk tugged at Dexter’s lips, ‘ _You always like to remind me about that, don’t you?_ ’

‘ _Because it’s something to be proud of and you didn’t cheat to get it either! You earned that position and you earned everyone’s respect. I’m just your backup in case anything happens, s’why we agreed to appear together in conferences with me live on Skype while you sit happy in your fancy chair._ ’

‘ _About that…_ ’ Dexter stilled his thoughts when he realized the plane had begun to smoothly descend and he glanced out his window at the approaching landscape below.

Dexter released his hand holds with a heavy sigh and began to collect the ice cubes from his lap before they melted. He frowned at the notion of his brother making snide jokes about the wet spots on his groin.

‘ _Thanks for keeping me distracted..._ ’

Freak chuckled, ‘ _You know me. I’ll talk your ear off about anything if you let me and it certainly keeps you from wiggin’ out._ ’

‘ _It’s the only way to fly._ ’

‘ _Next time, I’d opt to charter a private jet. I’m not crazy about commercial airlines._ ’

‘ _I second that._ ’

Much to the combined relief of passengers and crew, the remaining twenty minutes of flight were relatively uneventful. Needless to say, as they rolled to a stop at the gate, people were more than a little eager to exit the plane.

Dexter was not so keen to throw himself in their midst despite the ease of being in first class. Fidgeting anxiously, he undid his seat belt and bent to extricate his bag from the underside compartment. Midway in doing so, he noticed the condition of the arm rests.

‘ _It wasn’t me!_ ’ Freak blurted.

With his heart smashing rapidly against his rip cage, he gaped at the warped metal and deep grooves in the shape of his fingers. He fearfully scanned his surroundings to check if anyone had noticed but no one had. Praising his luck that the seat beside him had been unoccupied, he scurried to collect his second carry on from the overhead.

‘ _Of course it was-_ ,’ he began then paused to squelch his anger. It wasn’t fair to blame Freakazoid when he knew damn well that he was just as guilty.

‘ _Why does this keep happening to me?_ ’ He thought sorrowfully.

‘ _I dunno, Dex. Your guess is as good as mine, but I have noticed that in the past year the line dividing my powers from you has blurred considerably._ ’

‘ _Yeah, no kidding…_ ’

‘ _We really need to talk to Roddy about this. Maybe he can explain what’s causing it. Want me to drop him an e-mail?_ ’

‘ _Would you?_ ’

‘ _Consider it done._ ’

Dexter stood and inched his way through the frantic crush of passengers to the alcove adjoining the cockpit. “Miss?” He hailed to a flustered blond flight attendant.

She regarded him with a cautionary smile, “Yes Sir, we DO apologize for the inconvenient turbulence…”

“N-No,” he interjected. “It’s not that. There’s a bit of a problem with my seat.”

“Out of the way, buddy,” A large man complained. “You’re blocking the line!”

“OH! S-Sorry…” Dexter flushed nervously and shifted away from the throng.

The attendant’s brows furrowed, “Sir?”

Dexter produced a business card from his wallet and held it out for her to take. “Just trust me on this. My personal email address is on the card so feel free to send me the bill for the damages.”

She took it, albeit hesitantly, “What do you mean by damages, Sir?”

To this Dexter did not reply and instead turned quickly to leave, deciding that she’d soon find out on her own.

There was nothing for the stewardess to do but stand and watch him go, card still in hand. She glanced at her partner in uncertainty and the brunette shrugged. “He was in first class, seat 2B. Want me to check it out?”

The blond shook her head and stuck the card into her breast pocket. “I got it.”

When the last passenger had finally exited the plane and final farewells had been made, the curious ladies ventured together to the aforementioned seat. They exchanged stunned glances and stared, neither sure what to make of it.

“Damn,” The brunette muttered.

The blond opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She jumped, startled when her partner jabbed her shoulder with two fingers.

"I told you the coffee was brewed too strong, but did you believe me? Noooooooo..."

 

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Chapter 2: Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Many thanks to blue collar comedian Ron White and my Boyfriend Eric for some of the jokes!

After exiting the plane in a hurry, Dexter beat a path to the men's room to take care of his business and afterward, splashed his face with water. He knew his family was waiting for him at the baggage claim and delaying their inevitable reunion would only suffice to alert their sense of anxiety at his uncharacteristic lack of punctuality. As if on cue, his cell phone buzzed insistently within his left pocket and Freakazoid informed him that it was a text from his brother.

Dexter drew a breath and planted his hands on the men's room countertop. "Okay," he said to the reflection in the mirror. "It's only been nine years, I can do this." He bowed his head, leaning hard against the counter top and counted the seconds before another buzz from his pocket reminded him of his brother's impatience. He huffed through his nose and wished he hadn't been so lax in sharing his cell number.

A stall door slammed closed, startling Dexter out of thoughts.

' _Better get going or Mom'll start to fret and you **know** how she is. She'll have them shouting your name over the intercom for the entire world to hear._ '

There was little he could say in response so Dexter quietly shouldered his messenger bag and towed the other on wheels at his side. He exited the facilities and crossed the bustling thoroughfare to an escalator and began his descent into the next week of what would later be described as Hell.

Upon his arrival to the baggage claim, it didn't take long for Dexter to be found.

"HEEEEY DEXTER!" shouted a familiar baritone voice.

' _Oh God._ '

Dexter plastered a smile on his face and spun to greet him, "Duncan, how are yoUUUAAHH!"

Like a predatorial bird diving after its intended prey, the 6'4" behemoth swept him clear off his feet into a rib crushing bear hug, "HEY squirt! Finally decided to crawl out from that rock you've been hiding under, eh?

' _Ack! Duncan cooties!_ ' Freak gagged.

Duncan grinned and set Dexter down, holding him out at arm's length. "Christ, **look** at you!" He grasped his brother's biceps, "I never thought I'd see the day that scrawny Dorkster would ever develop muscles! You look good, man!"

Blindsided by the compliment, Dexter looked abashed, "…Thanks?"

"SWEETYPIE!"

Dexter found himself assaulted a second time as his mother's slight body collided into his. His arms automatically came around her as she clung to him, too stunned to shy away from the shower of kisses raining on his face.

"Oh! My little boy! You're home at last!" she cried, tears shining on her rouged cheeks. "I'm so glad to see you!"

Mr. Douglas clasped a firm grip upon his youngest child's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Come on now, dumpling," he objected half-heartedly. "I realize it's been a while but you're smothering the poor boy to death. He looks about ready to keel over from lack of oxygen!"

"No'm'mph-m'fine," came Dexter's muffled reply.

Duncan snickered, "Well, he always was bit of a mama's boy."

' _Mama's boy?_ ' Freak exclaimed, ' _Who's he callin' a mama's boy?_ '

Dexter bit back a snort of laughter at his counterpart and patted the middle of his mother's back, "I missed you too, Ma."

Doug produced a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to his wife, "Mind your apples, huh, son?"

Duncan rolled his eyes.

Mrs. Douglas took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, "My, just look at 'im Doug..." She sniffed, "All grown up and so handsome…" Her lips quivered and she threw herself at Dexter again for another round of kisses and hugs.

Doug adjusted his glasses and grinned toothily, "He sure is Pumpkin." He managed to detach his youngest from the wife long enough for a hug of his own, "Our little boy isn't so little anymore. He's grown into a fine man."

"Daaaad," Dexter blushed.

Debbie nodded her agreement then released her son at last. She curled her arm around the crook of her husband's elbow, eyes still glassy with unshed tears. "Do you have any extra luggage we need to get hon?"

Dexter shook his head. "Nah, just two carry ons. I pack light."

"Alrighty then," Mr. Douglas chimed. "Then let's head off to the parking garage."

Duncan draped an arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him along close behind their parents. "So what've you been benchin'?"

Without missing a beat, Dexter replied, "Tch, benches are SO last year, I've already advanced to tabling." He quieted, his eyes growing wide at the realization that it had been Freak that'd spoken through him and gave his alter ego a mental kick in the shin.

' _HEEEEY_ ,' Freak yowled. ' _What was **that** for?_ '

' _You butted in!_ ' Dexter snarled. ' _What the heck am I supposed to say, huh? Oh yeah, uh, huh huh, I could totally bench press a Buick and not break a sweat!_ '

' _SO! It's the truth!_ ' Freak cried in defense.

' _…and I'm sure he'd be **swell** with that, wouldn't he?_ '

' _You can't deny that we've been itching to show him up since we were kids! I swear that guy has his head so far up his ass he's wearing his butt cheeks as blinders._ '

Duncan gave his brother a bemused grin. "Don't be a smart ass, seriously, it can't be THAT much. 'Sides you're still too scrawny to be pushing much more than one-fifty, if that."

' _Scrawny MY **ASS**!_ '

Dexter bit his tongue to stifle the smart remark that was sure to come. ' _Freakazoid, mind your temper… remember this is Duncan here and despite our super powers he looks like he could dish out his fair share of whip-ass. If you haven't noticed, he's more than doubled in muscle mass since we last saw him. He's a professional wrestler for crying out loud!_ '

' _Professional muscle head or not, we could take 'im. If he gets hit with a Volvo, it won't matter how many sit ups he did this morning._ '

' _Just cut it out and don't get crazy. I don't want to ruin our first day back home._ '

' _Rrrr… FINE!_ ' Freak huffed. ' _But don't you get snippy with me if he starts to arm punch you in the car like he ALWAYS did before, I refuse to put up with it._ '

"Dexter regarded his brother with a weak smile and replied, "Pretty much…"

Duncan pulled him into a half hug and noogied the crown of his head. "Keep up the good work, poindexter. Maybe I can offer you some tips if you're interested. I'm a certified trainer after all."

Dexter yelped and flailed his arms, "Ahh, sure, just don't do **that**!"

His brother released his squirming sibling and laughed. "What, after all these years I'm not allowed to give you a hard time? You're no fun!"

"You always give me a hard time…," Dexter muttered dolefully.

"It's my job," Duncan retorted.

"…and so was beating me to a pulp every chance you got?" Dexter shot back.

Duncan's face flushed and he fisted the front of Dexter's shirt, jerking him off his feet, "Hey, you deserved it you weak little shit!"

"Now settle down, boys," Debbie chided over her shoulder. "And mind that tongue of yours Duncan. It's been a long time since you two have seen each other and I don't want you two arguing off the bat. This is supposed to be a happy family time so act like it!"

"Yes mother," the brothers droned in unison.

Once his mother's back was turned Duncan shoved Dexter hard, nearly making him stumble. "You heard 'er."

' _That big weenie! He's still pushing us around! I hate that! Lemme just hit 'im once? I promise I won't break anything. I'll just wound his pride a little._ '

' _I'm **really** not in the mood to argue the pros and cons of throttling our brother. We'll discuss it later when I've had a chance to settle in. I've already got a lot on my mind and a senseless act of violence isn't one of them. Besides, do you really want to risk slipping on our powers and possibly causing a fatal injury?_ '

' _Pleeease_ ,' Freak begged.

' _No._ '

' _Aw, come oooon! Not even if I'm careful?_ '

' _No._ '

' _Not even if I offered to buy your favorite vanilla ice cream with black little vanilla bean specks and lots of rainbow sprinkles on top?_ '

' _Read. My. Thoughts. Big N with a little o, No._ '

Freak let out a disappointed groan and projected the mental image of him pouting for all he was worth. ' _I could just take over, you know._ '

' _But you won't._ '

He sighed again. ' _Noo.. Not right now, at least… but you **owe** me._ '

' _That's fine._ '

Dexter dug his hands into his pockets and trudged sullenly ahead to his father's side, "Hey Dad, you really don't have to carry my bags for me."

"I offered," said Doug. "You've had a long flight and I figured it'd be one less thing to weigh you down. Anyway, I'm not bothered at all. Like you said, you pack light. 'Sides, my doc encouraged a little light exercise so I'm helping you and that's that."

"Fair enough."

The walk to the car and trip out of the airport parking garage was mercifully uneventful. Freakazoid and Duncan had gone silent, preferring to ignore one another (even if Duncan wasn't aware of it), thus leaving Dexter to his own devices. He chose to use this brief moment of peace to contemplate the time that had passed since he had last seen his immediate family in person. His Father hadn't changed much save for a few extra wrinkles, thinning hair and the absence of a few pounds around the middle. Mom on the other hand had aged considerably though she disguised it well with makeup. Her hair was still as red as it had ever been but he guessed she'd been dying it for some years now.

Dexter narrowed his eyes, spying his brother without seeming obvious. Duncan had changed a lot too, but this didn't surprise him in the least. Contrary to popular belief, he'd kept a close eye on his family, a task which didn't necessarily require a great deal of communication. His brother was easiest to look up considering the fact he'd become a bit of a celebrity in his professional wrestling career. All he had to do was search him on Google and his name was all over the place. Heck he even had a bio on Wikipedia. (Freakazoid kept any information regarding Dexter's connection to Duncan from filtering through the net as a means of maintaining privacy). Recent rumors said that Duncan had received an offer to join the UFC. However, official news had not yet surfaced to confirm or deny that claim.

' _He may be a macho kick-ass tough guy but I bet the mere thought of having a good 'ol wrassle with the "blue guy" would still make 'im piss his pants! Remember that Christmas he ran out the front door screaming like a little girl after I threw him down the stairs?_ '

Dexter smiled shrewdly. ' _Don't start or you're gonna make me laugh._ '

' _ **AHHHH**_ ,' Freak shouted in mock panic. ' _There's a blue guy chasing meeee!_ '

Dexter covered his mouth to stifle a fit of giggles.

' _You gotta admit_ ,' Freak chortled. ' _It was hil-arrrrr-ious!_ '

Duncan frowned, "What're you laughin' at?"

"Oh, you know how he is hon," Debbie mused. "Always talking to himself like a crazy person and laughing at nothing…"

"I was thinking about a joke," Dexter countered, meeting his brother's gaze. "So, when did you get the tattoos and the…" He motioned to his own lower lip.

"It's called a labrae, bean _dip_ ," Duncan replied tersely.

"I know that," Dexter snapped in defense. "I was just striking up conversation and being nonchalant about it."

Duncan swiveled around to show off his biceps, "I got it at the same time I got the tribal tats on my arms shortly after you left for college." He gave them a flex, "Nice, huh?"

"Ah, ya," Dexter said, trying to sound impressed. "The designs are pretty intricate."

His brother nodded, satisfied with his response and settled back on his side of the back seat. "So what made you decide to start working out," He asked, regarding to his younger brother's new assets.

Dexter paused as if suddenly embarrassed that he'd worn his red sleeveless t-shirt and wrapped his arms around his sides. "I think I was just tired of being ragged on about how thin I was," he said quietly. "…and," he sighed, "It makes me feel good about myself."

Duncan nodded, oddly silent.

"I still got Duncan's old free weight set at the house," Mr. Douglas spoke up. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving it to you since it hasn't been put to good use for some time."

"No thanks," Dexter politely declined. "I have my own equipment at home."

Duncan stared morosely at the blur of the interstate outside his widow, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. "You never did tell me what you're benching," he muttered.

' _THIS again…_ '

Dexter shook his head. "Does it matter?"

' _Can I punch 'im **now**?_ '

' _What'd I say?_ ' Dexter thought flatly.

Freakazoid resumed pouting.

"I asked you a simple question," Duncan spat. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" He suddenly turned on Dexter and raised his fist threateningly.

Before he had any time to register what had happened, Dexter caught his brother's hand before he'd even had a chance to swing and pulled Duncan toward him till their faces were mere inches apart.

"I've had just about enough of you already," he said in a voice not his own.

Duncan paled. Something wasn't right here. That little voice that had been niggling at the back of his mind for the last hour was suddenly roaring in his ears that there was something oddly familiar about all this, something that he didn't particularly want to remember. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn't have any say in the matter.

Dexter grinned like the chesire cat, seeing the dawning recognition in his brother's eyes.

' _You remember who I am_ ,' he thought. ' _…and now I'm going to remind you why you don't mess with me._ ' He released Duncan's fist and grabbed him with both hands by the collar of his shirt. "Say… I've got a GREAT idea. Wanna know what it is?"

Duncan gaped; dread made him speechless because he KNEW that voice, just not why it came from his brother of all people.

Dexter pulled him closer till their noses touched, all the while maintaining unblinking eye contact and shouted enthusiastically, " **LETS WRASTLE WHILE SINGING I'M A TUGBOAT CALL ME MEL!** "

" **EEEEEN** ," Duncan shrieked.

"My word, Duncan, what has you in such a tizzy all the sudden," his mother asked.

Finding his voice at last and struggling not to hyperventilate, Duncan stammered, "Y-you know about the b-blue guy?"

Dexter snickered and pushed his brother back against his side of the seat with enough force that it made the car sway. "Juuuust kiddiiiing!"

Mrs. Douglas exchanged glances with her husband.

"Duncan, Dexter," Mr. Douglas barked. "I don't know anything about this blue guy thing you two keep bringing up… you haven't mentioned it since you were kids but if you start a fight in this car, I don't care if you two ARE grown adults. I'll pull over right now and butter your heads!"

Dexter feigned innocence, "Eh, WHAT blue guy?"

Duncan still had the look of a deer caught in headlights and failed to respond save for a few cursory squeaks and said nothing more for the remainder of their trip home.

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Chapter 3: An Uncertain Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Many thanks to my Boyfriend Eric aka Arcanix, for some of the jokes!
> 
> A Special thanks to Ms. tye-dyed-trickster for proof reading my work, offering constructive criticism, and reassuring me that I was going in the right direction! You're so awesome!

Upon Dexter's arrival at his parent's house, Duncan made it clear that they were not on speaking terms and sat on the couch with his father to entertain himself with television and menial conversation.

Mrs. Douglas lead her youngest son up the stairs to his old bedroom of which hadn't changed at all since he'd left (not even the old posters and outdated DOS and code manuals stacked neatly on the book shelf).

' _Sheesh, does she ever throw anything away?_ ' Freak wondered. ' _It's like stepping into a museum of ancient history._ '

Dexter half shrugged in response and scanned the room with a quizzical eye.

The only noticeable change, which cast a somber note to both Dexter and Freakazoid's moment of nostalgia, was the absence of their beloved cat, Mr. Chubbikins. Following the peaceful end of the feline's fifteen years of life, Dexter's mother sent him pictures and such to ease the pain of his loss. She'd had him cremated and buried the little urn in the backyard marked by a white cross.

Dexter gazed out the bedroom window, offering his companion a moment of silence as he spied the grave marker peeking from behind an overgrown copse of Indian hawthorns.

Debbie smiled apologetically, noticing where he'd looked and patted his shoulder, promising that his father would eventually get around to trimming the hedges. Nodding, Dexter's frown abruptly broke into a smirk when he noticed that his mother still had a habit of getting lipstick on her front teeth.

Freakazoid chuckled, ' _God, how I've missed her little quirks..._ '

As his mother turned to leave, she reminded him not to spend too much time on his computer and come down after he had finished unpacking to chat with her while she prepped for dinner.

Dexter watched her go and ran his hand over the CRT monitor perched atop his old IBM 5150 PC. Honestly, he felt like he was seventeen again, a feeling that wasn't entirely bad but still… what did his mother see in keeping such outdated junk?

' _She misses her baby boy and this is all she has to remember us by,' was Freakazoid's sage reply. 'All mothers experience the empty nest syndrome._ '

Admittedly, not visiting in all this time was not the smartest thing he'd ever done. He could've made the effort to drop by during the holidays. His parents were oblivious to the physical and psychological tumult of his adolescence; therefore he should not have expected them to understand his voiceless reasoning. Initially, he felt justified in his escapism, cloistering himself away into the rigors of his studies; but now he realized it a shameless act of self preservation.

A sound like knuckles striking a door echoed between his ears. ' _Hello, this is your conscience telling you that you shouldn't beat yourself up over this. You **know** why we had to go. It isn't your fault they're all a bunch of loons and don't understand._ '

' _I should've explained in more comprehensive terms. It was inconsiderate of me for being so presumptuous._ '

Freakazoid huffed his exasperation, ' _Woulda, coulda, shoulda… It's done. Ya gotta stop dwelling on it or you're gonna end up tearing yourself to pieces._ '

Without another word, Dexter quietly set his bags on the bed and ventured downstairs to the kitchen. Midway, he came to a stop when he overheard Duncan talking with their father. Quickly back pedaling a step to keep hidden within the stairwell's shadowed alcove, he stood leaning against the banister and listened.

"You really should mind your temper, Duncan," Mr. Douglas chided. "I'm starting to wonder if this wrestling gig you've got going is just making things worse with your aggression. It just seems like the littlest things set you off… You're… not on drugs are you? There's this thing called roid rage they talk about in the News with professional athletes who use st—"

"NO," Duncan blurted. "I may get pissed easily but I'm not into drugs. That's just STUPID. And the wrestling is fine… I've gotten some really great offers recently for different things and I'm just not sure whether I want to get into it or not."

"Well, that's good, you're moving up in your career. But, the other thing that's been really bothering me, particularly your mother, is that you acted like you were excited about seeing your brother but now you two aren't even talking to each other. What's up with that?"

"I was. I mean, yeah I'm excited! I haven't seen him since he was eighteen, but it's like there's something about him that just rubs me the wrong way. I see him and I'm like, alright, this is cool, glad to see ya but then he opens his big mouth and it's just… I dunno, he just pisses me off." Duncan frowned deeply, his brow furrowed in consternation. "Seriously, just makes my blood boil and I wanna **bash** in his skull."

"You know, all that rough housing around as kids was something your mother and I found amusing because you were growing boys, but now this whole thing has escalated into today's little incidents, particularly in the car…Maybe we shouldn't have let you guys fight so much."

"We fought worse when he started in on me acting like the blue guy tryin' to freak me out and it seems like whenever he's around this guy you and mom keep teasin' me about, appears."

"I don't know what to say, Duncan. Your mother and I haven't seen hide or hair of him."

I'm tired of everyone thinking I'm crazy," Duncan ground out. "That blue guy is REAL and I **know** Dexter has something to do with it. He knows the dude and probably sends him to beat me up because I always give him such a hard time!"

"Well, you know the saying… you reap what you sow…" Mr. Douglas glanced up when he noticed his youngest son descending the stairs. "OH, Dexter buddy. Your brother and I were just having a powwow about your little disagreement…"

If glares were daggers, Dexter knew he'd be julienned fries right about now. Duncan had that accusatory look that seemed to say he knew Dexter had spied on them.

He resisted the urge to shrink away from the power of his brother's stare and against Freakazoid's protests, did not return an equally hostile glare or make any silly faces and inappropriate hand gestures. He simply turned his back and disappeared into the kitchen.

Lips pursed in irritation, Duncan watched him go and regarded his father once more. "It's like all the sudden he has these degrees in computers and science and shit and suddenly he acts like he's better than me and won't bother to give me a straight answer to anything. He has to be all mysterious and crap and make me bust my ass tryin' to figure him out! Seriously, he was so cold just a second ago. Just stared at me and left without saying anything."

"Well, he may have just been trying not to get your goat. You said yourself just a second ago that he opens his mouth and…"

"- I know what I said," Duncan interrupted.

"Well then I guess I don't have to tell you what you have to do in this situation. From one man to another, I recommend that you act nicely and confront him on the issue or you can continue to shout and carry on like a child." With that said Mr. Douglas turned back to the television and flipped to the sports channel.

Meanwhile, after a frustrating lack of response from Dexter, Freakazoid decided to do his own thing and entered a secluded sector of cyberspace to answer Roddy's pings of inquiry. When he'd set up the perimeters guarded by a dozen or so fire walls, he opened session and his dear friend and mentor appeared.

"'ello lad, I got yer e-mail. It's been a while! What's this I hear about your powers goin' haywire?"

"Hey rodd—," Freakazoid's jaw went slack, "HOLY CRAP! THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?"

Roddy looked down at himself then back at Freakazoid, confusion marring his features. "?"

"Did someone pull a prank on you and pour blue toilet bowl cleaner into your shower head? You're as blue as I am!"

"OH! That!" Roddy chuckled, feeling silly for his lack of realizing the boy's initial shock. "It happened shortly after I visited on the New Year… I assume it's a delayed reaction of my exposure to the internet. I cu'nae remember if'n I told ye."

Freakazoid's face fell as he drew closer to his mentor and poked him in the arm, "No, you didn't. I would've remembered you telling me something this important."

"It happened in the span of a day," Roddy explained, "…startin' out with blue splotches till it spread throughout me body. By dinner time I was as you see me now."

"Woo. I must admit you look nifty keen!" Freak looped an arm around the shorter man's shoulders and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "Now we really DO look related!"

Roddy's lips quirked, "But anyway, before we address the reason why we're here I ought to mention that our conversation hasn't been fully secured. D'ye really think it's wise to be so lax with yer firewalls?"

Grinning, Freakazoid gave a dismissive shrug. "Nah, I like living on the edge. It's kind of like cyber streaking, the wild abandon as transmission waves steadily caress my packets. It's like ass pennies1, except they're chunk packets." He burst into laughter as the older man's expression went blank, mouth drawn into a thin line.

"….Lad," Roddy deadpanned. "The mental image has just permanently scarred me. I may never sleep again."

"Besides which," Freak chuckled. "…and I mean this with complete seriousness. We're in a pocket of the net that nobody can reach and I'd know in an instant if anyone was sniffing around." He winked. "Give me a little credit, here."

"Of course, I dinnae doubt your abilities. S'just considerin' the ruffians we've encountered in the past, can ye really blame me?"

"Don't worry," Freak reassured. "I got it covered."

"So uh, what seems t'be the problem, exactly? You were rather short on the details in yer e-mail."

"Well, yeah, I was in a hurry and distracted… My powers are rubbing off on Dexter. I can't shut it off like I used to when reverting back to human form."

"You said in your letter that on the plane today he mangled the arm rests of that seat."

"Freak nodded, "Over time it's continued to develop to a point that now he's starting to break things like—" He made a fist, "—HULK SMASH kind of deal when he isn't really careful."

Roddy ponderously stroked his beard, "What else is occurring aside from the super strength?"

"Sheesh!" Freak cried in exasperation, "Where do I start?" He held up his hands and started counting fingers, "He can do a little of everything that I do. Super speed, strength, electricity, net capabilities and technopathy… even the telekinesis!" He made a face, "It's like the movie Poltergeist in his house sometimes, glasses and random objects smashing into walls and levitating. The list of abilities is a mile long. It's like; whatever is going on with him is starting to affect me!...or…is it the other way around?" He scratched his temple thoughtfully.

Roddy smirked, "I'd say it's the other way around, but you were sayin'…"

"Yeah," Freak affirmed before resuming his rambling with gusto, "My powers have been getting kinda crazy. It's like the superman thing; suddenly I'm faster than a locomotive, though I was always faster than one, but that's beside the point! I still can't fly but I can leap a tall building in a single bound!" His eyes lit up, "OH and you think my lifting a greyhound bus was all you had to worry about? Try leveling buildings when you run into them on accident!"

The Scotsman arched a thick brow and regarded his companion speculatively, "You ran into a building on accident?"

"I tripped, okay? I'm a superhero, not a ballerina, though I COULD be one if I wanted to but I REALLY hate tutus. Who ever thought of putting tutus on ballerina's anyway? What's so attractive about looking like a pink chimney sweeper?"

"…" Roddy lowered his face into the palm of his hand and shook his head. He laughed, wondering if he'd ever manage to keep a straight face around the boy for longer than a minute.

Encouraged by his friend's amusement, Freak resumed his elucidation with enthusiasm. "DUDE, seriously I'm can lift boulders TWICE the size and weight of a bus! And don't even get me started on the electricity thing. Last time I changed over from Dexter, I nearly lost my head in a lightening storm. You ever been struck by lightening, not once but twice in a row? Woulda been three times if I didn't high tail it. In that case, the phrase "Third time's a charm" does NOT apply. I'm just glad I was able to deflect it and walk away relatively unscathed save for the side effect of Dexter's crazy sun burn. Guh, what a headache!" He rubbed his temples, "I'm a walking lightening rod! Needless to say I don't take long walks on beaches when the weather channel calls for a "mostly cloudy" day. Seriously though, you name it, I've done it!"

"I get the picture, boy'o," the Scotsman chuckled.

"Well, you HAD to ask! There is a neato fact worth mentioning though."

"What might that be?"

"Dexter doesn't need glasses anymore."

"Oh?"

"The ones he has on now are strictly cosmetic. He recently discovered he could see just fine without 'em. Despite not needing 'em anymore, the whole Clark Kent look was just how people associated him so he got fake ones and wears those."

"Interesting… and how long ago did this sort of thing with your powers begin?"

"I'd say right when we entered college but that was just piddly parlor trick kind of stuff. The escalation in power was progressive so neither of us noticed that much until the glasses thing, which wasn't even a year ago."

"Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

Freak shrugged. "I didn't think it was anything to worry about."

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed a pattern."

"Eh? What pattern?"

"I've noticed through the years that your freak out transformation no longer required a verbal command. Shortly after that occurred, you developed telekinesis."

Freakazoid groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, and all that accomplished was the ability to pummel my own skull with bricks."

"BUT!" Roddy interjected, "Eventually you learned to control it and that stopped happening. You were just bein' difficult, which made it that much harder…"

Freak peered through his fingers and muttered disgustedly, "I still can't look at a brick with a straight face…"

Rolling his eyes, Roddy continued, "Dexter's newly acquired abilities leads me to believe that all of this might lead to a merger between the both of ye."

Freak's brows rose, "Merge? Like the fusion dance in Dragonball Z?"

Roddy gave him a perplexing look, "Come again, lad?"

"The fusion," Freakazoid replied, "When two people perform a synchronized series of steps kind of like a dance or martial arts kata and fuse to become an all powerful being. The only thing is that in the anime, the fusion form wore off after 30 minutes and the two people broke apart… Are you saying that that's happening to Dexter and me?"

"Um, basically, aye, but it's hard t'tell at this point. Even with yer current powers combined, ye both have remained separate individuals."

Freakazoid nodded. "Yeah, he's still very much his own man despite the fact that I can take over and walk and talk with him kind of like a puppet. I haven't experienced any residual effects to speak of and as far as I can tell neither has he."

"Maybe that's the point. Willing or unwilling, the fact that ye've commandeered him at all could be the cause of it. It could only be a matter of time before ye begin t'assimilate…"

Freakazoid's looked aghast, "Wait, you think I'm doing this on purpose?"

"That's not what I said."

"But you assumed," Freak accused.

"Don't be so defensive, lad. It's a theory, nothing more. Ye have t'agree with me that the both of ye complement the other quite well, like two sides to a coin. He's your insecure and introverted, "human" side while you are the complete opposite. This is why I came to the conclusion of why, when Dexter first entered the internet that ye both split into two beings and people like myself and Guitierrez didn't."

"…Some would call that a multiple personality disorder…" Freakazoid hung his head, sighing dejectedly, "Tch …and I just got done rehashing the fact that I'm not some crazy disorder he needs a pill for…"

"He doesn't," was the Scotsman's quick reply. "You have every right to your independence as he does, but everything must have an order, even for someone as capably unlimited and insane as yourself."

"Yeah, but now you've got me thinking… is this somehow my fault, that I've inadvertently screwed my pseudo twin brother because of what I wanted out of the relationship? That's not fair."

"It's not yur fault any more than it's mine. Life isn't meant t'be fair, it's meant t'be completely random. Do ye think I WANTED t'be blue like this? Do ye realize how difficult it is t'walk around in public or do something as simple as shop for groceries? People like t'point and stare at the blue Scotsman! They laugh, throw things, or want t'take pictures! I can cover it with body paint, but it's a pain in the arse! At least you have the ability t'revert back to a normal form. I was never given that choice but d'ye think I sit around feeling sorry for myself about it? Nae!"

"How am I gonna break this to Dexter? It's like giving him a death sentence! I can't DO that!"

"Come now, chin up, lad. I'm certain it won't be as bad as y'think, certainly NOT a death sentence."

"You sure?"

"Aye."

"Positive?"

"Freakazoid, the percentages of the worst possible scenario occurring is one in a million."

"That's still one one-hundred-thousanth of a percent. I mean, look at me! You gave those same odds to the board meeting the Christmas morning that Dexter Douglas activated the pinnacle chip flaw. It wasn't supposed to happen."

"Yet 'ere you are, I know. Try not t'see this from such a negative perspective, it isn't like you t'not see the world with optimism. Set an example for Dexter. He does plenty of the frettin' for the both of ye."

Freakazoid fell quiet, his thoughts turning inward at the revelation of such information.

Grim faced with fatherly concern, Roddy sighed, "You can count on me t'look into it further for ye, lad. If anyth'n happens t'ye, I'll be the first t'know. Dinnae worry." He patted the young man's back. I'll drop by t'visit ye for yer birthday but if I find out anyth'n before then, I'll message ye."

Freak nodded slowly, still at a loss for words.

Roddy gave the lad a half hug and smiled warmly. "Have a good night. Tell Dexter I said hello and that I'll see him soon as well."

"Thanks," was Freakazoid's soft reply. He watched his mentor go, disappearing in an instant to be left alone to thoughts far darker than he'd originally intended for the evening. Hesitating only long enough to bemoan the news he'd received, he returned to Dexter's subconscious to broach their uncertain future.

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DBZ / fusion dance © Akira Toriyama
> 
> Ass Pennies © Upright Citizens Brigade
> 
> 1 If you don't get the "ass pennies" joke, look it up on Google or YouTube. It's as disturbing as it is hilarious.


	5. Chapter 4: Leave out all the rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: A Special thanks to tye-dyed-trickster, my editor, for putting up with my doubts, fears, angst and my off the wall ADHD shenanigans. Without her offering constructive criticism, expertise, and continual reassurance, I would not have come this far! 
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: We're progressing into a darker section of the story so many of the characters are being faced with residing issues and are under considerable duress. Naturally, they may not seem entirely "In character" but if you consider the situation, would you have fared any better? Be aware that, given their individual personalities, each person is going to react differently. Also, please take into account that people are not infallible, and tend to overreact with little to no provocation depending on how sensitive a particular subject is. It's happening every day around the world, so try read this chapter with an open mind and a deeper understanding. ...The plot continues to thicken.

The following morning, Dexter woke to the smell of bacon with the sun in his eyes and a pounding headache. Burying his head under the pillow, he lay still, listening to the muffled sounds of his parents' movement in the kitchen downstairs. Grumbling at the cacophony of birdsong outside his window, he prodded the indi-glo button of his wristwatch and the digitized timepiece lit the darkness. 8AM.

' _Only four hours… need more sleeeeep_ ,' Freakazoid hissed.

Cradling his aching head, Dexter swore as he withdrew from under the pillow and kicked aside the covers. 

Freakazoid had been acting pretty weird throughout dinner and when Dexter had inquired as to what he and Roddy had discussed; Freak merely gave him a mental shrug, muttered something about Roddy turning blue and said he'd divulge more about it later. 

Dexter wasn't sure whether he should be offended or concerned. Maybe it hadn't gone well? He couldn't fathom why. He hesitated to ask further about it first thing out of bed and decided to forego that till after breakfast. 

Last night, for the sake of their parents, Duncan and Dexter had been cordial to one another and the relaxing effects of the beer they'd shared seemed to do wonders. Naturally, Duncan couldn't end the evening without jibbing at his brother for being a pussy because he could barely finish his second beer. Needless to say, the little spat that resulted between them was grounds for yet another silent treatment and Duncan promptly excused himself to see what Mom was up to. 

Dexter and his father lounged on the back porch for another good hour, enjoying simple conversation that didn't require much thought or response. Eventually, his father drifted indoors and Dexter stayed to gaze up at the stars for a while. 

Freakazoid maintained his silence, exuding an aura that seemed oddly poignant on such a beautiful night in the suburbs. 

Dexter had asked once if something was the matter but Freak used that same, noncommittal response as he had at Dinner. Frustrated, Dexter forced down the last few gulps of the beer he hadn't finished then wandered to his bedroom to fiddle with his laptop before turning down for bed around four in the morning. 

Four hours of sleep was not nearly enough to function properly, but it would have to do. His parents were trying to be good hosts and Dexter felt obligated to indulge in their efforts. So, without further ado, he gathered a fresh change of clothes and trudged tiredly to the bathroom for a much needed shower. Luckily, the door to Duncan's old room next to his remained closed and by the muffled sound of his rasping snores, was still asleep. 

Thankful for a moment of peace, Dexter hurried to complete his task before his brother woke and started hammering on the door (like old times) to go about his own morning rituals. 

' _Whose bright idea was it to install a single bathroom into a three bedroom house, anyway?_ ' Freakazoid groused with a yawn. 

Dexter shrugged, muttering about old houses and his father being cheap as he relieved himself, undressed, and climbed into the shower. 

Twenty minutes later, a fully dressed Dexter emerged in a cloud of steam wearing a worn pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt that read in white font across his chest "No, I will not fix your computer." It appeared he'd timed it just right when he noticed his brother emerging sluggishly from his room in a manner that reminded him of a grizzly bear rousing from hibernation. 

As Duncan shuffled past him without so much as a howdy-do, Dexter grinned in typical freak fashion. "Didja know you snore?" 

Duncan shot him a contemptuous glare. "SO!" And he shut the door behind him with a slam. 

"LIKE A CHAINSAW," Dexter added loudly. 

"BITE ME," was Duncan's muted retort. 

Dexter giggled to himself all the way down to the kitchen. Goading Duncan was just too much fun. The only other person he could recall the enjoyment of teasing even more had been Freakazoid's old friend Professor Jones, who scared so easily it was ridiculous. 

' _Come to think of it_ ,' Freak pondered. 'I haven't heard from Jonesy since he decided to retire shortly after we left for college. I wonder what he's been up to lately…' 

'Probably nothing much, these days…' Dexter thought ruefully. ' _He's likely hiding in a corner and rocking himself. The guy was afraid of his own shadow for pete's sake. It's a wonder he ever got out with us at all. I thought he'd have a heart attack when you had that candle wielding nutcase, Jack, chase him around during that stint on Dr. Mystico's island._ ' 

' _What can I say, 'ol stitch face just loves scarin' the Professor. Who was I to deny him that pleasure? I think everyone thought it was pretty funny. Steff though—_ ' He paused. ' _—Well, never mind her..._ ' He trailed off, an awkward silence passing between them. 

Dexter quieted his thoughts as he entered the dining room where his mother had just set the table. "Hey Mom, Hey Dad..." 

"Good morning Dexter," his mother greeted cheerily. She circled around the table and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I hope you slept well? Your father said you were up pretty late." 

"Meh." Dexter waggled his hand in a so-so way then reached up to rub away the lipstick stain on his cheek. "My fault really… got this pounding headache though…" 

"Doug, I told you not to let him drink," Mrs. Douglas scolded her husband. "You know he's a light weight!" She turned to her son, "You need anything to help with your head, dear? Aspirin? Goody's power? Valium?" 

Dexter shook his head, "Nah, I already took something but thanks…" 

"Sure thing, hon." 

Mr. Douglas chuckled apologetically. "We had some father son bonding time, didn't we Dex?" 

"Yep, I don't mind a bit of a hangover," his son affirmed. "Eh, you want any help?" 

"Don't you dare!" Mr. Douglas shouted from the kitchen. "You park that butt in a chair and let me take care of breakfast!" Her head peeped out the kitchen, "OH, would you care for some coffee? How do you take it?" 

"Strong, cream, sugar, the works," he replied. 

"Oh goodie, then I made it as I thought you'd like it. Your father used to drink it the same way till the doctor told him to cut back on the sweets. Now he just takes it with a little bit of milk and splenda. I dunno how you two can stand the strength though… It's like drinking jet fuel. I for one just prefer a cup of Earl Grey tea." 

She placed a steaming mug in front of him along with a bottle of french vanilla creamer. She smiled genially and hurried back to the stove in a flurry. "Sugar bowl is on the lazy susan!" she called in a sing-song voice. 

Mr. Douglas took a seat beside his youngest son and sipped his own cup of coffee, "Your brother coming down? I haven't heard 'im." 

Dexter stirred creamer into his coffee and added a generous helping of sugar. "Grizzly bear'll be down in a jiffy. No doubt the smell of breakfast is what drew him out of his cave." 

"Your brother was never much of an early riser," Doug agreed. 

"Hon," came his mother's voice. "While you were sleeping, I got a call from that nice man named Cosgrove." 

Dexter's ear's pricked. "Yeah?" 

"Said he'd heard from your old driving instructor, Mr. Roddy MacStew," his mother continued, "-that you'd come back in town and said he'd like to meet up with you some time later. I invited him to breakfast but apparently he'd already made plans. He said you had his cell phone number though so you could call him when you had a moment…" 

"OH, yeah, I do. Thanks Ma." 

Debbie emerged from the kitchen with a plate piled high with pancakes. "Speaking of which, whatever happened to Mr. MacStew? Though he's always been good about sending us those greeting cards for Thanksgiving and Christmas every year I haven't seen much of him lately. If I had his number, I would've tried to invite him for breakfast instead so we could all catch up on old times." She set the plate down and wiped her floury hands on her apron. "How is he?" 

"Oh, we've stayed in contact and we visit each other often. Saw him for New Years, in fact," Dexter replied. His lips quirked, finding the irony of the following statement too hilarious to pass up. "Though lately, he's been feeling kinda blue, so he hasn't been out much." 

"Blue?" Mrs. Douglas frowned. "Well that's not good at all." 

Freakazoid sputtered and laughed, forcing Dexter to put down his coffee mug to prevent himself from spewing its contents. 

Debbie darted to the kitchen and returned with a plate of bacon and a carton of orange juice, "Well, if he's feeling blue, then maybe you really ought to call him over. I certainly made plenty to eat…The Irish scones are almost ready and I understand he loves those." 

Dexter shook his head and speared three pancakes with his fork then moved them to his plate. "Nah, he's okay. He seems to be doing a lot better actually but he's got a lot going on at the moment. I'll check in on him soon though and let him know you were thinking about him." 

"I wonder what he's feelin' blue about," Mr. Douglas said as he helped himself to a serving of pancakes and bacon. 

Dexter smothered the urge to join in Freak's infectious laughter, his voice straining from the effort, "You have no idea." 

"I suppose I'll have to send him a card then," Mrs. Douglas sighed. "Poor thing, he ought to find himself a girlfriend and settle down. He's spent far too long as a bachelor. It comes as no surprise that he's so depressed. Does he even have any children to speak of?" 

Dexter shook his head. 

Mr. Douglas let out a puff of air, ruffling her bangs, "Well that's a cryin' shame." 

"Speaking of which," Mr. Douglas piped up from around a mouthful of pancake. He flinched when his wife swatted his arm. 

"Dougie," She admonished, "Don't talk with your mouth full!" 

Dexter chuckled as he buttered his pancakes then added the maple syrup. 

"Speaking of which," Mr. Douglas repeated after he'd swallowed, "Whatever happened to that little girlfriend of yours, ya know, the blond…what's er name, Stephanie?" 

Dexter stared morosely at his plate and shoved a large bite of pancake into his mouth to prevent himself from talking. He shrugged. 

Mrs. Douglas smiled sadly and gave her husband's shoulder a squeeze. "Perhaps it's best we not talk about such things right now, dear."A bell chimed from behind her. "OH!" She brightened. "The scones!" 

Dexter gave his father a pained smile, "It didn't work out." 

"What didn't work out?" Duncan clasped a large hand on his brother's shoulder and took a seat next to him. He pointedly ignored his brother's darkening expression. "OH, that chick stephanie? She dumped you at the prom, right?" 

The orange juice glass in Dexter's hand shattered. 

"OH GEEZ, way to go there poin-dexter-OW!" Duncan cried suddenly, noticing his mother standing behind him wielding a rolled up magazine that she'd struck his head with. 

"DUNCAN! For goodness sake, can't you just leave the poor boy alone?" 

Duncan gave his mother a wounded look then huffed, "Sorry Dex. I was just teasin…" 

Dexter got up quietly from his seat and went to the kitchen sink to wash off his hand. His mother followed, wetting a hand towel to help clean up the mess on the table cloth. 

"It was just an old juice glass and a little O.J., hon," she reassured him. "No harm done." 

"S'okay," her youngest son said softly, running his hand under the faucet to wash away the bits of glass and blood from a series of cuts on his fingers. 

"You need a band-aid?" 

"No, m'fine," he murmured. 

Debbie stood silently, her face a war of maternal concern. 

"He didn't mean it…" she said finally. 

"He did," Dexter ground out, cradling his injured hand and watching as the cuts began to heal at an alarming rate. He curled his fingers into a fist and hid it against his side. 

She gave him a pleading look. "Please don't be upset." 

"You shouldn't have asked him to come." He snapped, startling her with the force of his anger. "You know we don't get along. He ALWAYS does this." 

"Dexter," a new voice reproached. 

"You have SOME nerve!" Dexter whirled on his brother looming in the doorway, aghast at Duncan's audacity to feign confusion. "WHAT?" He shouted in a tone that no one recognized. "HAVEN'T YOU SAID ENOUGH? SHE DUMPED ME BECAUSE I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH! OKAY? YA HAPPY NOW?" He fumed quietly, a strange light dancing in the blue of his eyes. 

"Geeze, Dex, chill the fuck out. You're SO defensive! I'm **sorry** , okay?" 

' _RIGHT, YOU'RE ALWAYS FUCKIN' SORRY_ ,' He thought bitterly. ' _BUT YOU KEEP PUSHING MY BUTTONS!_ ' 

A slender pair of hands on his cheeks broke Dexter out of his trance and he found his mother's face filling his field of vision. "Honey, you never talked about it…" She brushed away the tears he had hadn't realized he'd shed, "We didn't know the whole story. Forgive me, but I think we were all a little curious..." 

"I don't want to talk about it," he quavered. 

"Won't you come back to the table?" 

"Sure." 

Dexter followed her to the dining room were Mr. Douglas sat minding his own business with his nose buried in a newspaper. He peered over the top of the paper when he noticed his family returning to the table and slowly let out the breath he had been holding. 

As Dexter passed Duncan in the entry way, he paused long enough to level him with a scathing glare. "If you ever mention her again," Freakazoid hissed with deadly calm, "So help me… I'll fold you into a bunch of funny balloon animal shapes that'll take more than an army of chiropractors to put you back together again." 

Duncan's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. 

Dexter's fists shook at his sides with the effort it took to resist pummeling him. He grinned in that creepy sort of way that made the color drain from his brother's face. "Got it?" 

Duncan nodded vigorously and he quickly returned to the table to resume his meal in silence. 

Dexter sat back down and picked up the funnies section of the paper his mother set aside for him to read as he ate. 

His parents chose to ignore their sons' exchange for the sake of their sanity and talked amiably about the kind of things they'd planned for the family to do that day. 

Duncan cleared his throat. "Um, mind passing the scones, Dex?" A scone sailed through air and struck his forehead before falling onto his plate. "Okay," he said flatly, "I deserved that." 

Mr. Douglas sniggered. "You're lucky that's all you got, son." 

"OH, how about a movie!" Mrs. Douglas blurted, "That'd be nice wouldn't it?" 

Dexter hid his eyes behind the wall of the funnies strips, closing them briefly against the worsening ache in his skull. ' _I'd be fine just goin' back to bed at this rate._ ' 

' _... yeah, can't argue there_ ,' was Freak's somber reply. 

**To Be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave Out All The Rest © Linkin Park (the lyrics and music overall goes well with setting the mood of this chapter)


	6. Chapter 5: Waiting for the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my editor, for putting up with my doubts, fears, angst and my off the wall ADHD shenanigans. Without her offering constructive criticism, expertise, and continual reassurance, I would not have come this far!
> 
> Another special thanks to my boyfriend Arcanix for some of the jokes and helping me proof read the final draft. I LOVE YOU!
> 
> It took a great deal of effort to set aside my feelings regarding the situation with Steff, considering I have an extreme dislike of her. However, I was successful in portraying her in the way I felt she was entitled to because every character has the potential for growth. I kind of imagined Stephanie as the receptionist for a dermatologists office, helping the next generation of popular girls stay beautiful and aiding the less popular girls in their battle against the dreaded acne! Out of all the chapters I've written thus far, this was the most difficult.
> 
>  
> 
> To my more sensitive readers, be warned there is a bit of shameless bro-mance but it's purely innocent.
> 
> enjoy.

Enduring the palpable tension that hung over the breakfast table prompted the terrible realization that Dexter had overreacted. He'd blown up with very little provocation and rather than blame his brother's insensitivity, Dexter felt wholly responsible for allowing his rampant emotions to dictate his actions. His persistence in dwelling on Stephanie for so long often worried him, but he had done little to manage his feelings regarding the matter of their breakup. Rather than face the difficult truth, he'd pushed the incident far behind him, hoping that in time he could cope with the pain of her loss by simply ignoring the issue.

Losing his temper moments ago bore testimony that he never relinquished his lifelong obsession with the girl of his dreams. The pedestal she stood upon remained as high and unobtainable as it had been since he first met her back in middle school.

What made things worse was that his folks only knew half the truth of why the subject still plagued him. The embarrassment of her rejection in addition to knowing that he himself had been the source of her refusal made it that much more unbearable.

Dexter maintained his resolve to avoid discussing the matter despite the curious glances of his family. He wasn't ready to admit his failure when he had enough trouble sharing these dark thoughts with his "other self". The only words he managed to utter were those of heartfelt apology to all especially Duncan. After a moment, he dared to raise his eyes from his plate to observe the scrutinizing stare of his sibling. The longer they held each other's gaze, the more obvious it became that he had vastly underestimated Duncan's intelligence.

Dexter's critical mistake was in failing to resist the inclination to express his inner-freak but after nearly a decade of sharing both mind and body, that aspect of his personality was irrefutably ingrained.

Whatever conclusion Duncan had come to, it no longer mattered. The unmistakable glimmer of comprehension could not be fabricated. How much Duncan knew, Dexter was uncertain, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt. At least one person at the table was finally on to his little charade. Now, it only seemed like a matter of time before the proverbial shit hit the fan.

Tensed as if ready to make a run for it, the hair at the nape of Dexter's neck prickled, half expecting Duncan to announce there and then his discovery that the blue guy and Dexter were in cahoots. Fortunately, it seemed luck was in his favor and Duncan said nothing, his attention drawn away to the allure of an appetizing home-cooked meal.

The sensation of an unseen pair of arms embracing his shoulders drew Dexter's attention to the indelible being within.

' _Are you still mad at me?_ ' Freak questioned softly.

Feigning ignorance, Dexter responded, ' _Over what?_ '

There was a pregnant pause, the space between minds rife with tension and after a seemingly interminable passage of time, Dexter finally considered withdrawing. However, in that moment, the image of Freakazoid's face, hardened by his sincerity, appeared behind Dexter's eyes and he froze with alarm.

' _…Over ruining your chances with Steff?_ ' Freak murmured. ' _I mean, I was the one who got in the way, right?_ '

Guilt seized Dexter's heart so strongly that it manifested as a physical pain and he nearly caved in under its intensity. Remarkably, he sustained his external façade of indifference but the same could not be said for the inner tempest of his thoughts.

' _I've told you this a hundred times. The answer's still no_ ,' he said weakly.

' _Then why do I get the feeling you still resent me for screwing you out of the relationship?_ '

Dexter frowned bitterly, unable to restrain the contempt in his answer. ' _People that age are more concerned about social hierarchy and body image than the effort to commit themselves in a serious relationship, let alone marriage_.' He recalled that rescue mission to the Vuka Novian Chesky Beresch Prison when in mid-flight Cosgrove inadvertently revealed Freakazoid's secret identity to Steff. In addition to the insult of her initial remark, she had been all too eager to go gossip to her friends Val and Jill. If Freakazoid hadn't stopped her and demanded she tell no one— he could only imagine the havoc that knowledge would have caused.

' _Besides-_ ,' Dexter continued, ' _-She never liked Dexter-creepy-Douglas anyway… I was just deluding myself into thinking she'd change her mind after I became you. She liked YOU. So, if anyone screwed anyone out of a relationship, it was me._ '

' _..._ '

' _She had the both of us fooled, pretending to love us and leading us on to believe that we were more than a pawn in a popularity contest. We agreed to get that engagement ring and then she had to wait till the worst possible moment to say, "Oh, by the way, let's just be friends"._ '

Freakazoid cringed at the harshness of Dexter's statement. ' _…Ouch._ '

Shaking from the strain to control his outward display, Dexter kindly excused himself from the table and stepped out onto the back porch for a momentary breath of fresh air. He stared grimly at his hands, noticing that they'd healed completely then shoved them into his pockets.

He sighed heavily, ' _Look, I'm sorry, okay? It's just that coming back home is dredging up the past and it's putting me in a foul mood. I'm taking it out on you when I shouldn't. I don't blame you. I never assumed you'd done it intentionally… You gave me hope and I ran amuck with it. S'just sometimes I forget things and I let my anger get the best of me. It's like, open mouth, insert foot._ '

' _…_ '

Dexter hesitated, waiting for a response and when he received none, he decided that now would be a good time to bring up Freakazoid's own shift in mood. ' _You okay? You haven't been acting yourself at all today… Did you and Roddy get into a fight or something?_ '

' _NO!_ ' Freakazoid said quickly, then seemed to deflate, drained of his usual enthusiasm. ' _No_ ,' he said again, though softer this time. 'There was something Roddy said that sort of made me realize something and then hearing you vent just now, is really bringing things into perspective.' He heaved a great sigh, ' _There's something you need to know and if the implications are not as severe as Roddy made them out to be, it's still an issue that has me really concerned. I'm afraid you really will be mad at me..._ '

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Dexter slumped against the wooden guide rail, ' _That bad, huh?_ '

Freakazoid shrugged in uncertainty, ' _Maybe... –but it does have a lot to do with why you've developed my powers._ '

' _Okay… So spill the beans. What'd Roddy say?_ '

' _He sai-_ '

At the most inopportune moment, Dexter's back pocket began to buzz and with a meep of surprise he fumbled for his cell phone to find the caller ID flashing Cosgrove's name.

Freakazoid huffed, both annoyed and relieved at the disruption. ' _Leave it to Cosgrove to pop up at key moments when you least expect it_ ,' he muttered.

Flipping open the phone, Dexter raised it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Hey kid," Cosgrove's burly voice greeted. "How's it goin'? –Heard you were back in town so I thought I should give ya a call."

An eager nudge prompted Dexter to allow Freakazoid a few words in, "Cosgrove! I'm great! Mom said you called earlier. Sorry I missed you."

"No prob. I figured you were still in bed but you know me, always the early riser. Thought I'd check in and see if you were in the mood to do anything later?"

With arched brows, Dexter spied his mother's shadow peering inquisitively from the kitchen window. He casually turned away and sauntered to the opposite end of the porch, "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Well, ya in the mood to hit up a demonstration of the wack-a-mole played to classical music? It's pretty nifty. My favorite part is the 1812 Overture. Wanna go?"

A shiver of excitement coursed through Dexter's being and he shouted, "DO I **EVER**!"

"Thought you'd be tickled," Cosgrove chuckled. "I know you're busy with the folks but you think you'll be free this afternoon? I can come pick you up and after the show we can hit up the Papaya Queen for a smoothie. 'Ol Mike's been asking about you."

"That'd be AWESOME," said Freak. "As far as I know, this afternoon sounds great! The 'rents are thinking about seeing a movie after breakfast but I'm certain I'll be available to hang out after that!"

"Good. Then I'll be there around three!"

"Yup! CAN'T WAIT! See ya then!"

"Later, kid."

"Buh-Bye!" Giggling manically, Dexter closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. "Man, Cosgrove always knows how to cheer me up!"

"Goodness, you're so cute when you're talking to yourself."

Still grinning like he'd won the lottery, Dexter spun to find his mother standing behind him. "Ma!" His voice cracked as Freak took a step back into his subconscious, "What's up?"

Mrs. Douglas tilted her head in that queer sort of way, her eyes bright in the morning light. "So what has you all bright eyed and bushy tailed all the sudden?"

"Cosgrove called and asked if I was free for the afternoon. He wants to take me to a really cool show and then treat me to a smoothie."

She clapped her hands cheerfully, "That's wonderful! Then you should go and have fun! Perhaps you can even have Cosgrove stay for dinner when you get back! Wouldn't that be lovely? Also, he MUST attend your little birthday dinner tomorrow too!" She hooked an arm around his elbow and led him to the door, "I've baked you a cake— OH!" her smile waned, suddenly looking distressed. "Silly me, I've forgotten about your cake pan allergy! Will that be a problem?"

"No," Dexter soothed. "I don't have allergies anymore."

Her happiness restored, Mrs. Douglas cheered, "OH GOODIE!"

The day progressed quickly after breakfast and for all the well-known tension between Dexter and Duncan, they got along for the duration of the matinee showing of I, Robot. They even exchanged a few good words shortly after, sharing their likes and dislikes of the latest Will Smith film. However, residing in close proximity, the ride home grew increasingly awkward as Duncan's suspicions ran rampant and Dexter's insufferable headache persisted. His attempt to assuage the pain with medication had been a practice in futility and he blamed his sudden boost in healing factor for contributing to his immunity.

Three O' Clock arrived without incident, heralding the arrival of the proverbial angel of mercy, Mike Cosgrove, who pulled into the driveway in a shining black Ford Crown Victoria. He and Dexter swept away in a hurry like old times minus the siren and flashing lights for the reason that Cosgrove was content in his retirement from the force. That fact didn't lessen the joy of rekindling their friendship and discussing their lives in the months that passed since they were last together.

The show was a blast and there wasn't a straight face to be seen. Cosgrove, Dexter, and Freakazoid laughed their asses off at the awesome symphonic rapport between music and the machinated staccato of the whack-a-moles' intermittent squeaks of pain.

After the performance, In lieu of Dexter's worsening condition, Freakazoid took the reins of his body. Initially, he seemed reluctant to do so despite Dexter's encouragement but finally gave in so his mild-mannered alter ego could rest his mind for a bit.

Cosgrove never batted an eye at the sudden shift in personality. In the 9 years since they first became friends, he'd grown accustomed to such strangeness. He'd certainly seen crazier things in his time. When it came right down to it, as a former inspector, he understood better than most people the importance of a convincing disguise, particularly for a superhero like Freakazoid. So, en route to the Papaya Queen, Cosgrove hadn't given it a second thought when Dexter tiredly eased back into the passenger seat then quickly snapped to attention with a familiar grin on his face.

The ex cop frowned, noticing the subtle falter in Dexter's smile. Even though Freakazoid and Dexter attempted to conceal the fact that neither was feeling well, Cosgrove knew the moment he arrived at the Douglas household that something was amiss. It became even more apparent during the wack-a-moleperformance that the kid wasn't acting like himself.

"Kid," he said with all the seriousness that he was known for. "You don't look so hot."

"No," was Freakazoid's unexpected admission. "No I don't…"

"You comin' down with the flu or something?"

Freakazoid removed Dexter's glasses and folded them carefully before hooking them onto the neck line of his shirt. "Maybe," he said finally.

"Well, what are your symptoms?"

"It's this head-ache," Freak murmured. "At first I thought it was just a slight hangover from the beer I had last night but instead of getting better, it's gotten worse." He rubbed his temples, "—feels like there's a sledge hammer pounding on my skull. But now that you mention it, I do feel kinda achy…Maybe it **is** the flu, which is odd considering I've never been truly sick before."

The worried furrows in Cosgrove's brow deepened. "Want me to take ya home?"

"That's really not necessary," said Freak. "I don't want to ruin our plans over a stupid headache. I'm really looking forward to having one of Mike's yummy papaya smoothies. It might even help me feel better."

"You have a point," Cosgrove agreed. "—But if you need me to take you home real quick, don't hesitate to ask."

"OH, speak of the devil. There it is!"

Cosgrove ignored the deliberate change in subject and hurried to find a parking space. The kid had ants in his pants and was in such a rush to get out he'd almost leapt out of the still-moving vehicle. He chuckled and took his time, watching in amusement as the boy made a huge deal about reuniting with his favorite smoothie barista. Mike, one of a special handful of people, knew Freakazoid's secret identity and recognized Dexter immediately.

"Ya still take the usual?" Cosgrove heard Mike ask in his distinctive Brooklyn accent.

"Ya damn skippy, I do!" Freak shouted with gusto.

"Man, I've sure missed your good spirit, Mr. F," said Mike. "Eeey, Cosgrove! I THOUGHT I recognized that fancy set of wheels. Come on over. Will it be the usual for you as well?"

"Yep," Cosgrove affirmed.

"Comin' right up! Now have a seat youse two and tell me what's been goin' on! And don't go cheap on the details, either. Mr. F owes me for keepin' me in the dark all these years! Was thinkin' he'd fallen off the face of the Earth or sumthin'."

Freakazoid took a seat at the bar, "Well excuuuuuuse me for getting my gravity on backwards! I bet you **always** put your shorts on the right way, huh?"

Cosgrove gave a snort of laughter.

"Heh, y'have a point!" Mike laughed, shaking his head.

Freakazoid reached for a cup of straws and pulled out of a few to play with. "Don't I always?" He pressed down the straw wrappers, procured a dripping ice cube from a cup of water then dabbed each wad to watch them writhe like worms as they expanded.

Mike's lips quirked as he set a large papaya smoothie before Freak, "I used to love doin' that as a kid."

Freak's eyes lit up and he took his drink gratefully. "Mmm thanks Mike! Been lookin' forward to THIS all day!" He popped a straw into his drink, folded his arms over the table and leaned in to take a deep slurp. "Ah, cures what ails ya!"

Cosgrove took his own drink, sipping slowly.

"Anyway," Freak began, raising his cup to cool his forehead. "About how I've been lately…"

Mike leisurely dried a freshly washed glass, stacking it neatly with the others he'd cleaned as he listened. He briefly raised his eyes to a lime green Volkswagen turning into the parking lot and slowed in his ministrations, recognizing the vehicle. Glancing at the clock, he realized what time it was then noticed Cosgrove staring at him. He made a subtle jerk with his chin so as not to alert Freakazoid, who remained momentarily unaware.

Cosgrove tugged the brim of his cabbie hat low over his brow and glanced over one shoulder at the sound of a woman's heels striking the pavement. He sighed heavily through his nose and turned to exchange a look of uncertainty with Mike. The irony of the situation did not elude him, considering he should have remembered that she often came here after work. It'd become a bit of a habit carried on from the old days.

"Hey kid," he rasped. "Maybe we should head on out of here…"

Freakazoid lifted his head, a bendy straw protruding from each nostril. "What? Why? We just got—," he trailed off, turning to realize that they were no longer alone and gaped.

A shapely brunette with a French twist hairstyle and wearing a mauve tie neck blouse with a high-waist pencil skirt and black open toed pumps approached the counter. "Hiya Mike, can I get a large banana strawberry smoothie today? OH, and better make that a double. Val couldn't make it out of work early today and I promised to bring her a smoothie on the way home."

"Sure thing Steff," replied Mike.

As if she just realized she had an audience, Stephanie turned to acknowledge her onlookers and dropped her purse in surprise. "Cosgrove? D-Dexter?"

"How's it goin'?" said Cosgrove with a wave.

Blushing hotly, Freakazoid seemed to snap out of his stupor long enough to snatch the straws from his nose and looked as though he didn't understand how they'd gotten there. "What're **you** doin' here?" he blurted.

"I-I always come here after work," Stephanie sputtered. She stooped to retrieve her purse then stood, hugging it as though it were a life preserver. "H-How come **you're** here?" she countered.

Freakazoid ran a hand through the hair hanging over his face. Of all the people in the world, SHE was the last person he'd wanted to see. It took him a minute to consider how exactly he was going to approach this situation now that Fate saw fit to turn his world upside down. "I thought you were blond," he said distractedly, not answering her question.

' _Why? Why Now?_ ' Dexter's thoughts anguished. He cradled his face in one hand, a rush of chills making him shudder.

"I dye it," she replied, giving Cosgrove a pleading stare.

Freak fumbled for the glasses still hooked to the neck of his shirt and attempted to put them on. However, his hands— He stared at his shaking hands, the color draining from his face and clumsily dropped the glasses. He stared lamely at the floor then looked back up at Stephanie, his face a myriad of emotions.

Cosgrove rose from his seat, having no qualms with Stephanie despite her and the kid's past breakup. "It's good to see you're well and all, Steff, but the kid ain't feelin' well and I don't think he's in any mood to talk for now. I should be getting him home." He leaned down to grab Dexter's glasses and placed them in the breast pocket of his shirt. "Kid, let's get goin'." He grabbed his drink in one hand and curled his free arm around Dexter's shoulders, pulling him encouragingly toward the parking lot.

"But—," Stephanie started to say, falling quiet again when she truly took in Dexter's appearance. He had grown a few inches and from what she could see, had the lean muscular body of an Olympic swimmer. As opposed to his former years as a lanky and socially-inept nerd, to say his looks had improved was an understatement. She blushed despite herself, realizing that she was ogling him a little much and shamefully averted her eyes.

Aware of the friction between Dexter and Stephanie, Mike wore a look of helplessness, his inexperience making him unsure in to how to handle this predicament. "The kid comin' down with a bug of some kind?" he interjected, realizing the kid indeed looked like crap.

Too tongue-tie to reply, Freakazoid gripped his drink in both hands. He refused to meet Stephanie's gaze, old memories surfacing anew and impairing his ability to articulate his thoughts.

Mike placed two drinks into a cup holder and set them onto the counter.

Stephanie slipped him a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change."

Mike nodded his thanks.

Having forgotten his own payment, Cosgrove asked, "How much I owe ya?"

"It's on the house," said Mike. "Just get Dex home and keep me informed on how he's doin ah'ight?"

Cosgrove nodded, sparing Stephanie an apologetic glance. "See ya later, Steff."

"Wait," She said, following after them.

Cosgrove shouldered the brunt of Dexter's weight, helping him into the passenger seat of his car. "Just drink your smoothie slowly and lay back. Okay?"

"'Kay," Dexter said, his normal voice sounding distant.

"Is he okay? Should I call someone?" implored Stephanie, sounding frantic. A large hand gripped her shoulder and she stared down at the shorter ex-cop.

"He'll be alright. He just needs some rest, but I'll be sure to let him know that you were concerned. Okay?"

Stephanie nodded, not convinced but resigned to her inability to help. "Dexter, I —"

Dexter looked up at her with half lidded eyes.

"—I'm sorry," she said quickly. "F-For everything… I know it won't change anything–but I still wanted you to know that."

Dexter sagged in his seat and let his eyes slip closed. "I'm sorry too…" he whispered, his reply heavy with emotion.

"See you later?" She asked hopefully. It was obvious Dexter hadn't heard her and she sighed, feeling the first prickle of the tears that were soon to come.

Cosgrove gave Stephanie a parting hug, told her to "chin up" and bade her farewell. He left hurriedly, pulling out with a squeal of his tires and disappeared into the throng of rush hour traffic.

Stephanie stared at the highway for several minutes then went to her own car, set the drinks for herself and Val into the passenger's seat and climbed into the driver's side. She sat still as a statue, staring at the dash and the keys in her hand as though she didn't understand how either functioned. "I'm so sorry," she said to herself with a quiet sob. "I should never have—I was so cruel." Sick with regret she cried into her hands. When she had finally composed herself, she cleaned away the runny dark lines of mascara from her face and managed to pull out 30 minutes later than she intended. Thankfully, her best friend Val was around for moral support because it was going to be a long night of drama films and ice cream.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Only when the urge to relieve himself grew painful enough to rouse him from sleep did Dexter notice his wrist watch read half past eleven. He recalled nothing of the trip home or how he'd gotten into bed and struggled to remember when he'd blacked out. Feeling like death warmed over, he practically fell out of bed and shuffled like a zombie to the bathroom.

The house was void of light, leading Dexter to the conclusion that his family had turned in early for the night. The sound of Duncan's snores emanating from his old room supported that assumption.

A wave of vertigo made him nauseous and he steadied himself with a hand on the wall as he completed his business. Getting to the sink to wash his hands was an even bigger endeavor but somehow he managed. However, making it back to the bedroom—every step he took, the throbbing pain behind his eyes intensified. He got half way down the hall before he had to stop.

' _What's wrong with me?_ ' he thought.

' _Dunnooo_ ,' Freak moaned.

Using the wall as a guide, he reached his room at last and closed the door behind him before staggering to bed. Once there he curled into a fetal position to conserve warmth, realizing that while unconscious someone had stripped him down to his boxers. His teeth chattered and reached to tug the covers over himself but found that his arms refused to obey. Whatever energy he'd possessed to get himself out of bed moments ago had left him utterly drained.

Dexter lay very still and thought back to earlier that day and the prominent image of Stephanie's saddened face. She'd said something to him, something important. He felt his lungs constrict and made a strangled sound. He remembered now, the words he'd never expected to hear. His breaths came short and raspy as he choked back an aching swell of emotion.

Never in Dexter's wildest dreams had he expected Stephanie to apologize so directly. It was what he'd wanted to hear for so long—And even though it did nothing more than lend an ounce of closure for them both, the fact that she'd said it had left him profoundly affected. He managed a weak smile despite the agony of fever raging in his body. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and though there were many questions he desperately wanted answers to, he felt satisfied enough to try and leave that piece of his life behind him—at last.

…

…

Freakazoid listened through Dexter's ears and heard nothing more than his own, labored breathing. Several minutes of this went by. He knew this because he was counting the seconds, which turned to minutes. By then his patience had worn and he could stand it no longer.

' _Dexter?_ '

...

….

Freakazoid gave several mental nudges in an attempt to wake his companion, calling his name a second time. ' _Dexter?_ '

No reply, not even a stray thought.

' _DEXTER!_ ' Freak cried, sounding anxious.

Still no reply…He hesitated, the feeling of wrongness refusing to ebb. Finally he shouted, ' _GOOD MORNING STARSHINE! THE EARTH SAYS HELLO!_ '

…

When yelling didn't work, Freakazoid felt his insides go cold and though he felt no better than Dexter, at least he was still functioning. Freak had to get his attention somehow because letting him sleep was not going to be good if he ended up frying his brain from too high a fever. If he could just— He attempted to force himself into control of Dexter's body and was unexpectedly thrown back.

"The Hell?" he exclaimed, frantically prodding the outer reaches of his subconscious haven. He tried again, thinking that his initial rush had caused the backlash. However, where the world normally appeared to him in first person, he found himself remaining, whereas, his open arms were suddenly occupied by the weight of a— "DEXTER?"

He stared slack jawed at the person hanging limply in his grasp and drew his other self close, shock rendering him speechless. This had never happened before— had never physically held Dexter till this point. Carefully, he shifted the unmoving young man to rest against his chest, in awe that he could remain so still. He touched Dexter's flushed face then pressed two fingers to his neck to test for a heartbeat. It was faint but still there.

Freakazoid crushed Dexter into a fierce hug, one hand cradling his head against his shoulder and the other secured around his back. "Please," he begged, tears blurring his vision. "You gotta wake up. I need to know you're okay…"

An unsteady hand came up to rest on Freakazoid's side and he froze, turning his head to find Dexter looking dazedly up at him.

A wave of relief washed over him and he nearly collapsed, his knees were shaking so bad. "Oh god!" he cried. "I thought you were—." He couldn't finish that sentence, too afraid that if he said it he'd somehow make it a reality.

"How?" Dexter croaked, wincing at the effort to talk.

"I dunno," said Freak. "I really don't—I just…" He sniffed, their foreheads touching, "I was scared and when you didn't respond, I panicked. I never thought I'd ever see you like this… I…" He paused, mulling over the conversation he was supposed to have with Dexter. "I know this isn't a good time, but I meant to tell you earlier," he said, not breaking eye contact despite the mounting fear that such news would bring at a time like this. "This may just be the beginning to an eventual merging between you and me."

' _I had a feeling—_ ,' Dexter thought, too weak to speak. He fisted the taunt fabric over the chest of Freakazoid's super suit. ' _—that this would happen._ '

"I don't want to lose you," Freakazoid said firmly. "If anyone deserves to go, it should be me…"

Despite his ever-weakening state, Dexter managed to sound magnanimous, ' _You won't…_ '

If he had known this would be the last time he'd have the opportunity to speak with Dexter face to face, Freakazoid would have said something meaningful. However, the only thing that came to mind or rather—from the heart was, "I'm sorry."

Dexter looked at him— truly looked at him as a separate individual and smiled at the very moment their entire world gave way beneath them before swallowing them up in a blinding flash of light.

**To Be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, if many of you aren't getting the references to many of the characters or places I've mentioned in this chapter, I recommend watching the following Freakazoid episodes:
> 
> Season 2 – episode 1 "Dexter's Date" (reference to Dexter's allergy to sheet cake pans)
> 
> Season 2 – episode 3 "Mission: Freakazoid" (mission to vuka nuvian prison and Freakazoid's secret identity is revealed)
> 
> Season 2 – episode 6 "A Matter of Love" (you'll see Mike the smoothie bar tender who works at the Papaya Queen! ^_^)
> 
> Waiting for the end © Linkin Park (the lyrics and music overall goes well with setting the mood of this chapter)


	7. Chapter 6: Integration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my editor.
> 
> As for any warnings regarding this chapter, a bit of shameless bro-mance between Dex and Freak though I assure it's totally innocent. I should also point out the violent encounter between Duncan and Freak.

The sound of a door knock punctuated the stillness of sleep and Freakazoid awoke gasping for air like a drowning man. He stared blearily through the grey of predawn. "Whoizzit?" He slurred.

"Dexter?" came his mother's muffled voice. "I came up to check on you and found you'd locked the door. Are you alright?"

Freakazoid blinked in confusion and lifted his head from the pillow, "Whut?"

"Don't you remember? You had a fever and you'd fainted while you were out with Cosgrove. He brought you home and helped me put you to bed." The door knob jiggled as Mrs. Douglas struggled in vain to gain entry.

"M'alright Ma," he groaned as he slowly sat up, clutching his aching head.

"Dexter?"

"I'll be out in a minute," he said.

"Are you still running a fever?"

"No…"

"Oh good," his mother sighed, sounding relieved. "I'll just—head downstairs then. Holler if you need me."

"Kay…"

"And sweetie?"

Freak scrubbed his hands over his face, trying not sound irritated. "Yeah?"

"Happy birthday, hon."

Freakazoid froze, barely registering his mother's retreating footfalls as his mind automatically sought the exact date and time via the net. He flinched as if stricken when he realized the connection was dead and that repeated pings for access did nothing. "Access denied? That's—never happened before…" Frowning, his gaze flew to his digital wrist watch; the date read Wednesday, September 1, 2004. 'Well, shoot… I forgot,' he thought and given the circumstances, it didn't surprise him at all.

Freakazoid combed his fingers through his hair then slowly lowered his hands, palms up, to stare at them. The unusual teal-blue of his skin glowed vibrantly in the first rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds.

His brow creased, "Waitaminute, where are my gloves?" He curiously palpated his naked torso, noting that he wore nothing but Dexter's black boxer briefs. Odd—he'd never transformed from Dexter without his super suit before. In the past he didn't have much of a need for clothes nor had reason to believe that would change. Maybe this was some new development with—? His eyes widened, struck by the realization that his mind was quiet—too quiet.

"Dexter?" He asked softly.

No reply.

"Dex?" He repeated, his voice raising an octave. He waited a moment then struck his knuckles against the side of his head, "Hellooo, Dexter! This is your resident Freak wanting to know if you're feeling okay!" He giggled manically, "Come on, this ain't the time for jokes…"

The continued lack of a response did nothing to soothe Freak's mounting sense of dread. Was he unable to transform because Dexter was too sick or was there more to last night's fever-induced nightmare than he assumed?

Freakazoid's mind drew him back to that moment, recalling the feel of Dexter's weight in his arms and how weak he'd been. Somehow or other, Dexter entered cyberspace—but how was that even possible? How could they have both existed in one plane? Was Dexter's presence just a meta-physical projection?

The event that Roddy had told him about the other day had come to pass, a fact of which Freak was reluctant to share with Dexter until it was far too late. Apparently, denying the truth of the matter had not been an option. Could he have stopped it? Probably not, but he should have damn well tried! Now, he had to live with that guilt and all the what-ifs it entailed.

He laid his face in his hands and recalled the tumultuous moment in which he and Dexter were engulfed in a nebulous light.

_The look in Dexter's eyes had been one of peaceful resignation, which made little sense being that he **should** have resisted. Freakazoid had not wanted this—had been perfectly happy in the relationship he shared with Dexter. However, it seemed that the omnipotent net-force that originally created Freakazoid had made its decision and both Dexter and Freak had no choice but to succumb to its whims._

_Freak clung to the translucent form of Dexter, fading like a mirage, all the while realizing his grip was steadily beginning to loosen. Resisting the imminent change made it difficult to remain conscious and for the first time in his life he felt truly helpless. It terrified him to think of a future without Dexter—that life would cease to have any meaning._

_"Please don't go," Freak rasped. "Stay—with me… I **need** you." _

_Trembling and growing paler by the second, Freakazoid's waning strength abandoned him entirely and the very instant he lapsed into unconsciousness, Dexter slipped, wraith-like from his arms and through him as they disappeared together._

Freakazoid slowly lifted his head from his hands, blinking away tears. What did this mean? He dried his eyes with a corner of the sheets and out of habit he reached blindly for his glasses resting on the bedside table. Midway in placing them on his face he remembered he didn't need them anymore. He returned them to the bedside table, reminding himself that they weren't even prescription grade—Dexter wore them for appearance only.

' _Can I change back?_ ' he wondered, then tried without success. Several more attempts to transform did little more than intensify his headache. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood quickly, pacing in frustration.

"Why isn't it WORKING?" he ground out. "And for the love of –WHAT the HELL is up with the internet? Have I completely lost my connection?" He stopped pacing, desperation forcing him to resort to the only other option he had—use the old verbal command to change back.

"Freak IN!"

Nothing happened.

"DAMMIT!" he swore, plopping back down at the end of the bed and hugging himself. He rubbed his upper arms, prickling with goose bumps and began to rock himself, chanting softly. "Freak in. Freak in. **FREAK. IN**!" Each repetition sounded more frantic than the last as the risk of a full-on panic attack loomed ominously.

**BZZZZZZZT!**

With a jump, Freak snapped into alertness, his heart hammering against his rib cage.

**BZZZZZZZT-THUMP!**

He peered over his shoulder, discovering that his cell phone was still set on vibrate and had buzzed itself clear off the edge of the bedside table and onto the floor. A third buzz, muted by the carpet, sounded out and he clamored haphazardly over the bed to retrieve it. Without even bothering to check the external screen for the caller ID, Freak flipped it open and shouted, "HELLO?"

"Top 'o the mornin' to ya, Dexter," greeted Roddy. "Are ye alright lad?"

"OH GOD RODDY I'M SO GLAD TO HEAR YOUR VOICE!" cried Freak. "SOMETHING TERRIBLE'S HAPPENED—JUST AWFUL! IT'S LIKE, TEN TIMES WORSE THAN HAVING TO WATCH WATERWORLD FOR A MONTH!"

There was a brief pause. "Freakazoid?"

"Yes!"

" **CRUD**!"

Freakazoid flinched at the force of Roddy's shout.

There was another long pause, followed by a heavy sigh. "…Then it's happened?"

"Dexter won't respond!" blurted Freak, his voice strained with emotion. "I dunno what to do! I tried to transform and I can't—not without him! I even tried the old "Freak in" command and that didn't even work! I'm STUCK!"

"Calm down, lad, ye aren't gonna do yerself any favor by panicking." Roddy soothed. "Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

Freakazoid drew in a shaky breath and slumped to the floor, gripping the phone as if it were a lifeline.

"I figured somethin' like this might've happened," Said Roddy. "Seein' as there've been rolling world-wide internet blackouts for the past few hours."

Freak's eyes grew large, "Buh?"

"If there's any truth in the News on the telley, th'world is in total panic. At this rate, I cannae get t'ye through the net-port…"

"A-are you SERIOUS?"

"Sure as a snail hates salt, m'boy. Otherwise I'd be there checkin' on ye personally. Cosgrove told me ye'd gotten the flu th'night b'fore—Dinnae think anythin' of it till the net went down…"

"Y-yes, but—D-Did I cause the blackouts?" It suddenly dawned on Freakazoid to check on something and he attempted to make electricity spark from his fingertips. As expected, nothing occurred. "Roddy," he said fearfully. "My powers… I can't seem to—my powers, they're GONE!" Panic set in anew and Freakazoid drew his knees to his chest, back pressing against the bed.

"That must've been one hellavuh night!" exclaimed the Scotsman. "Ye've got some amazin' powers, lad. I'm sure this is only temporary. Sounds to me like, whatever happened, it gave ye the equivalent of a hard reboot! Tis a pity that it had such an effect on the rest of the world's virtual communications … Ah'm just glad that I haven't had other problems such as cellular interference or then we'd REALLY be in some SERIOUS crud!"

"What do I do?" Freak said frantically. "I can't let my parents see me like this, ESPECIALLY Duncan! He'll throw a huge hissy fit and I'm already sure he's figured out who I am and is plotting my demise! Without my powers, I'm a sitting duck!"

The sound of rummaging and jingling of keys projected through the transmitter, followed by a door slam and the static sound of wind interference. "Jus, use yer noggin' to figure out the situation and sit tight!"

"Roddy? What happened to Dexter? I **NEED** TO KNOW!"

"Get yer things t'gether. I'm on m'way."

"But Roddy!"

"NO BUTS! I'm headin' over there t'help and I'll be hog tied, tarred 'n feathered and thrown into the Loch before I allow ye t'deal with this alone! Now I've got'te let ye go for a spell. I need t'call Cosgrove. He asked me t' contact 'im if'n you or I needed help and that's what I intend t'do! Now hurry up and GET ready and try t'get out without bein' noticed! I'll be there inna jiffy!"

"Okay…" Freak replied meekly.

"Chin up lad!"

Freak nodded slowly, though he knew Roddy couldn't see him and heard the distinctive click of the line disconnecting. He closed the phone and sat quietly, his gaze scanning the room of his past life and settling on the stack of neatly folded clothes resting atop the desk. He scrambled toward it and hurriedly began to dress himself. They were the same shirt and pants Dexter wore the day before but they'd have to do. He simply felt glad to be covered, unused to seeing so much of his own blue skin and wishing he could revert to Dexter. He stooped to tug on his socks, and then reached for the black converse sneakers peeking half out from under the bed.

He told himself—convinced himself that Dexter's absence was temporary and that if he believed this for long enough, then it had to be true. He felt better to think that he still had a fighting chance, that Roddy would have an answer. He always did.

Swallowing the anxious lump in his throat, he dug into his suit case and pulled free the worn red hoodie he and Dexter loved. He needed to cover up more. A T-shirt still left his arms exposed and that wouldn't do if he expected not to be noticed.

Once Freakazoid was satisfied with his attire, he grabbed the few necessities he'd brought, particularly his laptop and shoved them into his messenger bag. As he threw the strap over his shoulder and started for the door, he stopped. In his rush, he'd nearly forgotten the most important thing of all—Dexter's glasses. His lower lip trembled. He mustn't forget those. As if handling a priceless artifact, he gingerly picked them up and folded them, returning them to the hard case they belonged to and put that in his bag as well.

"Don't you worry," he said to himself. "I'll get this fixed."

Freakazoid unlocked the bedroom door and peered out through a crack to check for anyone mingling in the hallway. When he saw that his passage was clear he crept out and quietly closed the door behind him. Though he normally enjoyed taking risks, he erred to the side of caution when approaching the stairs and began his descent.

The piquant aroma of fresh brewed coffee assailed his senses and he slowed his pace long enough to indulge an appreciative sniff, noticing an additional sugary undertone of something baking in the oven. His stomach growled, reminding Freak that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before. ' _God, what I'd give for a cup of joe and a plate full of muffins…_ ' Freak slumped heavily against the wall, weakened by a gnawing hunger. He rubbed his aching temples and paused when he overheard his father speaking from the kitchen.

"Hey, Duncan," said Mr. Douglas. "Would you go see if Dexter's alright? I heard him thumping around up there a few minutes ago. He sounded so out of it I'm worried he might've stumbled and hurt himself."

Freakazoid felt his blood run cold at the heavy sound of approaching footsteps and made a mad dash for the front door. However, he hadn't gone further than the base of the stairs when his brother crossed the living room and Freakazoid came to a screeching halt like a deer caught in headlights.

The absolute silence that fell between them was so intense that if a pin dropped, Freak was sure he would hear it. He stood tensely rooted in place, sweat making his scalp prickle uncomfortably beneath the warmth of the hood he'd drawn over his head.

Duncan's face was a myriad of expression. At first he seemed unsure of himself, perhaps convincing himself that the strange blue figure wearing his brother's clothes was merely a hallucination. This deduction lasted for all of a few seconds as his confusion quickly turned to anger. Apparently, his earlier speculation that the "blue guy" and Dexter were one in the same was in fact true.

"YOU!" Duncan seethed.

Freak dropped his shoulder bag. "OH FUDGE…"

Duncan lunged at his sibling and threw him hard against the wall before the slighter man had time to react.

The air whooshed forcefully from Freakazoid's lungs as his back impacted the wall, leaving a significant dent in the sheet rock beneath it. The expression "seeing stars" came clearly to his mind in that moment, considering the fact that he no longer had his powers to depend on.

"YOU TRICKED ME," bellowed Duncan. "YOU MADE EVERYONE THINK I WAS PSYCHO! I EVEN GOT DRAGGED TO THE FUCKING HEAD DOCTOR AND WAS CONVINCED THAT YOU WERE A STRESS INDUCED HALLUCIANTION AND PUT ON DRUGS FOR IT AND— IT WAS YOU FUCKIN' WITH MY HEAD THE ENTIRE TIME!"

Freakazoid had not realized his eyes were closed until he cracked them open and met Duncan's furious glare. He wheezed, too stunned to take an immediate breath, not that Duncan allowed him that luxury with a thick forearm pinning him by the neck. "Can't take—" He choked, tugging Duncan's arm to try and relieve the pressure on his windpipe, managing enough space to take a small breath. "—a joke—" he finished and swiftly brought up his legs and struck Duncan in the chest with his feet. Suddenly without support, Freakazoid fell in a heap onto the floor and quickly rolled onto his hands and knees.

Duncan stumbled back and managed to stay upright. "IT AIN'T A FUCKIN' JOKE YOU DIPSHIT!" He swung a fist squarely between his brother's shoulder blades, the momentum thrusting Freak face first against the hardwood.

Pain bloomed in Freakazoid's rib cage and skull and he momentarily blacked out, waking seconds later to the taste of copper in his mouth. With a flick of his tongue, he noticed that he'd split his lower lip. This was not turning out as well as he'd planned it. Come to think of it, he hadn't planned it at all. He just sort of—ran with it like he usually did.

' _Now if I could just get the license plate number of the bus that just hit me, I'd be just peachy_ ,' Freak thought sarcastically. ' _Oh yeah— right—that wasn't a bus. It was Duncan._ ' He winced, ' _—sure as hell felt like one though._ '

Freakazoid slowly raised himself off the floor for a second time, thankful that he was able to get as far as his knees without further injury. He hugged his aching sides thankful that nothing felt broken but there was little doubt in his mind that he'd feel like a giant bruise once the adrenaline wore off. He vaguely became aware that Duncan was speaking by all the yammering noise assaulting his ears and he strained to listen through a wave of vertigo. A large hand suddenly snatched the hood off his head, using it as leverage to yank him to his feet.

" YOU LIED TO ME—TO EVERYONE!" Duncan shouted, hooking an arm around his neck in a choke hold. "THEN YOU STARTED TOYIN' WITH MY HEAD THE OTHER DAY, SEEIN' IF I'D FINALLY SNAP!"

As if on cue, the confrontation was momentarily diverted by the simultaneous flash of light and snap of a shutter. This was promptly followed by the unmistakable whirr of a Polaroid Camera.

For several seconds both men froze then turned their heads to stare in alarm at their mother who stood not far from them, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"Oh it's just like old times," Debbie gushed, waving the printed photo so that it would dry faster. "You boys are just so gosh darn adorable! Continue your silly rough housing and don't mind me!"

"Save that one for the photo album peach face," Mr. Douglas shouted from the dining room.

"Sure thing, hon!" Debbie replied.

Duncan's face, if possible, flushed a shade redder than before. "MA! WE'RE KINDA **BUSY** HERE!" He brought his other arm around in a bear hug to ensure his brother didn't attempt another escape.

Mrs. Douglas observed her sons with amusement. "Gee Dexter; you sure went all out with the cosplay to spook your poor brother. You look JUST LIKE that young man who was in the papers once—what's his name—you know the one, um, Zoid, something or other… Gosh it's been so long. Whatever happened to him…?" She trailed off.

Duncan's grip continued to tighten and for a second time in less than five minutes, blackness began to creep back into Freakazoid's vision. "Oh-okay—hngh—" He gave a jerk but the vice of his brother's lethal embrace refused to give. "Fun's over now dickweed—yer—HURK!" His sentence abruptly broke off.

"Dexter? Are you bleeding?" Mrs. Douglas looked worriedly at her eldest son, "Duncan, I don't think you're—He can't breathe! Loosen up or he'll choke to death!"

Duncan ignored his mother, raising his voice over hers. "What's that Freak boy—Am I HURTING you?" He accentuated that statement with a compulsory squeeze. "That's the point!"

Though he could have bided his time to conserve oxygen, Freakazoid was not in the right frame of mind to think tactfully. He was harried enough as it was; he didn't need death by strangulation on the growing list of "things that went wrong on my birthday" as well. Duncan's murderous intent was painfully obvious at this point, which made Freak's option of "fight or flight" that much more of an imperative. Knowing that he had only a few precious moments of consciousness, he flailed and kicked then dug his heels in and ran Duncan back against the wall. Pictures fell from their mounts and clattered to the floor in a crescendo of shattering glass and broken frames. Freakazoid didn't notice as instinct had taken over at that point, forcing him to reach far into the deepest part of his reserves in an attempt to shake his assailant.

"LET DEXTER GO," Debbie cried, slapping Duncan's shoulder. "He's choking for God's sake!" She clutched her stinging hanging realizing her efforts did nothing to discourage Duncan's rage.

Alarmed by the noise and sudden panic in his wife's voice, Mr. Douglas rushed to the living room to discover that his sons' game of rough housing had turned into a full out brawl. He frowned, "WORMS AND WEAZLES, DUNCAN! YOU LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER THIS INSTANT! LET DEXTER **GO**!"

Surprised at his typically docile father's furious shout, Duncan's grip loosened just enough that his brother slipped from his arms whirled on him, catching him blindsided by cracking him across the face with his fist.

Duncan heard the sickening crunch of his nose breaking as the force behind his brother's punch struck like a sledge hammer. He had put everything into that punch. The white hot agony radiating through Duncan's head was proof enough and he had paid dearly for it. He clutched his face, falling hard to the floor and roaring in pain as blood gushed between his fingers.

Dexter or whoever he really was, stood over him, panting and staring uncomprehendingly at the bloodied hand he wielded in defense.

Mrs. Douglas grasped Freakazoid's shoulder and he flinched away as if it stung. Despite the strange wig and odd palor of the blue paint she assumed he wore, Mrs. Douglas could see that her son was terrified. "Dexter? Are you alright?" She looked down, noticing all the blood, "Good heavens, DUNCAN! DOUG, you're going to have to rush Duncan to the emergency room, I think his nose is broken!" She crouched to try and help but Duncan rolled away from her, still groaning in pain. She wrung her hands fearfully as her husband stepped in and helped get a grip under Duncan's arms. "Debbie, Get a towel—QUICK!"

Debbie rushed to the linen closet without delay.

"Freak in…" Freakazoid whispered hoarsely. "Freak in…. Freak in…" He clutched his head, his desperate need for the comfort of Dexter remaining unanswered. He looked at his brother, pale and delirious with pain. Blood—there was so much blood. Though he should have felt justified, the guilt of what he had done to Duncan, no matter how much of a dick he was, weighed heavily on his conscience. He should feel good in defending himself—Duncan deserved it—but two wrongs don't make a right. He wasn't a violent person— never had been. He shook his head, befuddled by the clamor of thoughts and emotions of both Dexter and himself swirling around his mind.

Mrs. Douglas returned and handed a towel to her husband then helped him assist Duncan in getting to his feet.

The towel, which Duncan held to his face was quickly turning red and with his father's arm around him, staggered dazedly toward the door. His mother held it open and handed Mr. Douglas the car keys and his cell phone. She kissed his cheek and told him to call her as soon as he reached the hospital to let her know they'd made it safely. She touched Duncan's hand and told him she loved him, knowing he hadn't the energy to reply.

With her hands clasped to her chest, Mrs. Douglas watched her husband help Duncan into the station wagon then rushed to the wheel and sped down the road with a squeal of rubber. She turned, closing the door and was surprised that her oddly dressed son hadn't moved an inch. Sighing, she left him for a moment then returned, her worried face filling Freakazoid's field of vision.

She smiled, but the gesture never reached her eyes. "I'm sorry this had to happen… Your special day is ruined. Duncan can't seem to control himself and—I hoped the two of you would get along better but you two are still as different as night and day…" She dabbed his lip with a cloth, the sting of alcohol making Freak jump. "What kind of paint is this? Is it permanent?"

Freakazoid gaped incredulously. Could she really be so blind or was her obliviousness deliberate? He pulled away, torn over how he should respond. His cover was already blown. What more did he have to lose?

"Goodness, I hope Duncan's gonna be okay," She said nervously, not understanding her son's silence.

Freak coughed, his larynx strained. "It's not paint, Ma," he rasped. "This is—" He hesitated, "For the most part, this is me, the—real me."

His mother's blank expression made it difficult to gauge her response. She tilted her head, "What?"

The urge to facepalm was almost too much for Freakazoid to bear. Instead, he seized her hands and brought them to his face, laying each palm flat against his cheeks. "This. Is. ME. I AM the guy in the papers you were talking about. Heck, I've been all over the news! I'm Freakazoid. Your son Dexter and I are one in the same. I've had super powers since I was seventeen!"

His mother's mouth fell open.

"Get it?"

Debbie shook her head, "Dexter, if this is some kind of joke…"

Trying not to sound exasperated, Freak cried, "It's not a joke! Why can't anyone understand that?"

…

...

The honk of a car horn broke the uneasy stillness that had begun to span between them and Freakazoid nearly leapt at the sound, assuming Roddy had arrived.

"SO—" Mrs. Douglas began. "The blue guy Duncan always raved about was you?"

Freakazoid studied his shoes, unable to maintain eye contact. "Yes…" He stooped to retrieve his bag.

"Oh my…" His mother's hand flew to her mouth. "That's… That's not what I expected at all…" Her voice grew soft, "Why didn't you tell me this?"

Freakazoid opened the door only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. He spotted Cosgrove's car parked in the driveway with Roddy in the passenger seat. "—I was afraid," he said quietly then thought what he couldn't finish aloud. 'No one took me seriously, anyway…'

Cosgrove revved the engine to gain Freakazoid's attention.

Freak stepped outside despite his mother still clinging to him. "I—I gotta go… There's something I need to do and I shouldn't be here when Dad and Duncan get back."

"I wish you wouldn't go," Mrs. Douglas protested. "We can fix this."

Freak shook his head, "You know it's not that easy when it concerns Duncan."

Debbie's lower lip trembled and despite the irresistible urge to turn and run, Freak pulled her into a hug. "I'll come back," he promised. "—But—just not today." He stepped back and Mrs. Douglas let him go, her hands falling limp to her sides.

"May I call you?"

Freak opened the passenger door and nearly stumbled as he turned to give her a final wan smile. He didn't reply but Debbie really didn't need him to. The look he wore said yes but his tiredness had drained his will to speak. He slipped into the Crown Victoria, closed the door with a slam and sprawled full length in the back seat.

Both Gosgrove and Roddy leaned around their seats, staring at him with twin expressions of surprise.

"Ya look like shit, kid," Cosgrove said matter-of-factly.

"The hell happened t'ye?" exclaimed Roddy. "I only just got off the phone with ye…"

"One word," Freak croaked. "Duncan."

Cosgrove made a grunt of disapproval and shifted the car into reverse.

Roddy looked out the side window, noticing that Mrs. Douglas remained where Freakazoid had left her, still watching them. "How's yer mum come into this equation?"

Freakazoid buried his face in the crook of an arm. "Just—" His voice cracked, "—get me outta here…"

"M'already ahead of ya, kid," said Cosgrove.

Once they'd left the neighborhood subdivision, Freakazoid couldn't recall what was said—if anyone even spoke. The world passed by him in a soundless blurr as the conflict within himself continued to rage. He hadn't realized he'd passed out till Roddy shook him awake and said they'd arrived at his house. Freak slunk out of the car and hadn't uttered a single complaint when Cosgrove swept him off his feet and carried him wedding-style, into the house.

"Thank you," Freak whispered as Cosgrove placed him carefully into an arm chair and his messenger bag beside it on the floor.

"No need to thank me," The ex-cop replied. "After all, what're best friends for? You looked like you could use a little pampering. I've seen what your brother can do and it ain't pretty." He looked at Roddy, "Kid looks hungry."

Already aware of this, Roddy headed to the kitchen. "Would ye like anythin' as well, Cosgrove?"

"I'd like a can of hash and some coffee."

"Comin' right up!"

"All the information of the internet at my disposal and I never bothered to learn the Vulcan neck pinch," Freak muttered.

Cosgrove chuckled. "Woulda, coulda, shoulda… you got outta there in one piece." He bent to assess the vicious bruising circling Freakazoid's neck, which had begun to fade before his eyes. "He did a number on you. Hmm, that's funny… looks to be getting better."

"Speakin' of which," Roddy called. "Th'net just popped back online. I assume that means both our powers should start t'make a comeback. Soon you'll be right as rain."

Freak tried to get up but a firm hand gently pressed him back down.

"Stay put," said Cosgrove. "You should take it easy and heal. I haven't seen you this bad off in ages."

"Yeah," admitted Freak, sighing as breathing grew easier with the passage of time. "It all happened so fast… I couldn't fight back. Duncan's gotten so strong! I'd underestimated him."

"And I'm sure he's tellin' himself the same thing about you right now—pulled up just as your dad was rolling out the drive. What happened?"

"I broke his nose," Freak replied.

Cosgrove grimaced. "I had that happen to me once while I was still working in the force, doesn't feel good."

"No, I don't imagine it does—not that I speak from experience or anything but even for a guy who's used to being beat on as a profession, Duncan seemed to be in a lot of pain…" Freak covered his face with his hands, his voice quavering. "I—I never meant to hurt him that bad."

Roddy appeared and presented Freakaoid with an apple. "Here, nom on this lad. D'ye 'ave any requests for breakfast?"

Freak gratefully took the apple, "Yeah, one of everything!" He bit into it, groaning with a roll of his eyes. "Thanksch," he said through a mouth full. "M'sooooo hungry, I could eat a horse—not that I'd ever eat a horse, 'cause that'd be weird…"

"Y'know," the Scotsman began, stroking his beard. "I been thinkin' about those power surges ye've mentioned havin' before t'day. I think yur friend Professor Heiney may have the equipment t'help me run a few tests on yeh t'get some actual schematics. I 'eard he moved t'California some years ago, I dinnae know where exactly and I'm not about t'try and hack 'im t'find out."

"Santa Barbara," Freak replied, taking another large bite, "Says he's been keepin' close to work with a doctor friend of his. Dexter has a vacation house down in La Jolla that I've wanted to go to for some time… I can use some of my remaining time off from work to hang out there and get all this mess situated."

"Sounds like a plan," Cosgrove agreed.

"Aye," the Scotsman seconded.

Freakazoid finished off the last of the apple and handed Roddy back the core, his expression turning fearful. "Roddy, I need to know how to get Dexter back. I'm worried about him. He wasn't doin' well last night and I need to know if he's okay. He won't talk to me and it's getting too quiet in here." He tapped his left temple.

Roddy exchanged looks with Cosgrove, "Perhaps ah, that should be discussed after ye've had somethin' consistent t'eat."

Freakazoid's face fell, "Something's wrong, isn't there?"

"Roddy filled me in on the drive over to your folks place," said Cosgrove. "We dunno what's up yet but it ain't worth belly achin' over till we have all the facts together."

"You don't get it," was Freak's terse reply. "You don't get what it's like to feel like half of you is missing… It's like…" He felt a prickle at the corners of his eyes and rubbed them with his sleeve. "I dunno what to think."

Cosgrove laid a hand atop Freakzoid's head, rubbing gently, "We're just tryin' to do what's best for ya."

Roddy nodded, "Aye, lad. 'E's right, y'know."

With a huff of frustration, Freakazoid lay back.

"Ah'm pure scunnurt over it too," continued Roddy. "But all will be explained in due time but there's no use makin' assumptions and getting all ballsed-up since it'll only exacerbate the issue. Dexter is likely in hibernation mode and that's what I'm stickin' to till I know f'sure."

**To be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freakazoid's quote "It was like having to watch Waterworld for a month!" was too good to pass up! (Ref: Season 2 Episode 7 "Statuesque") Kevin Costner's movie, Waterworld, while interesting in its premise, was an epic failure in the box office and coming from a Costner fan, you can believe me when I tell you it sucked, royally. The plot dragged, the scripts were terrible, and the main character was a total asshat—an asshat with gills.
> 
> Cosgrove's "I want a can of hash and some coffee" is a quote I've been dying to use and I finally got the opportunity! (Ref: Season 2 Episode 3 "Mission: Freak").
> 
> ::Roddy's Brittish/Scottish Slang use::
> 
> "Scunnurt" – fed up
> 
> "Ballsed-up" - Ruined, in a mess.
> 
> ***Random Interesting Tidbit: Many of you may get the reference at the end of the chapter of Professor Heiney keeping close to work with a "Doctor" friend of his. Yep, ladies and gents, that be the famed Dr. Drakken =P Finally I get to come full circle and refer to how Professor came to know Dr. D in my other story "Drakken's Memoirs".
> 
> Also, the references to such places as La Jolla and Santa Barbara are places I've actually been while living in Southern California. It makes the story seem that much more real to me when writing it out.
> 
> Another interesting fact is Duncan's nose break and the fact that it bleeds a lot. I speak from experience. I had a heavy oak chair fall on my face and I busted my nose pretty good. I never thought I could bleed so much but I did—couldn't breathe out of either nostril for over two weeks and even then it took close to a month till I got back to normal. SO, yeah… awkward…


	8. Chapter 7: The Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> In the words of my editor, this pretty much sums up what's happening and is GOING to happen…
> 
> "—Even if people don't recognize it. You've got a very detailed story going, and you're doing everything you can to make it realistic. Having a darker period in this section of the story /is/ realistic - no one could just bounce back from an experience like that without a fair bit of trauma and depression." – tie-dyed-trickster.
> 
> With that said, I warn my fellow readers that the story is going to continue to get darker before it gets better. Just be reminded that all the drama won't last forever. If you need a little reassurance, just check out my deviantart gallery and you'll be reminded of all the parts of the story yet to come. So, I promise that things WILL improve—it just takes time.

The morning was spent in relative silence; Roddy cooked while Freakazoid dozed in the lazy chair and Cosgrove sat on the couch watching CNN. It seemed that the net wide blackouts had finally been resolved. However, there remained the question on everyone's minds: who or what caused it? Cosgrove and Roddy knew the answer but they weren't about to share that fact with anyone.

Roddy recalled his earlier discussion with Freakazoid regarding his, for lack of a better term, "integration"— it still amazed him in how close to the truth his prediction had been. ' _Wonders never cease_ ,' he thought. ' _Startin' to wonder if I'm psychic…_ ' He stirred Cosgrove's hash warming in a skillet and turned off the burner to a large pan of scrambled eggs then flipped the browning sausage links in a third pan. He nodded satisfactorily at his efforts and reached for a loaf of pre-sliced potato bread; it was just about time to start the toast.

The Scotsman peeked into the living room, noticing that the lad had fallen asleep in the recliner. 'He isn't coping well with Dexter's disappearance but at least he's restin'.' He smiled sadly and returned to preparing breakfast, wishing that the tone of the day was set on a more positive note.

Noticing Roddy checking on him and the kid, Cosgrove got up to help set the table.

As if on cue, minutes later, Freakazoid awoke to the pop of the toaster and the tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen. He yawned and shuffled to the dining table, depositing himself into a chair.

Roddy set a tall glass of orange juice in front of the lad, "Drink it, ye still look like yer gonna pass out. Cosgrove's fixin' yer plate so ye can eat first."

Freakazoid gripped the hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Thank you…"

The Scotsman grinned, "Of course, lad." He affectionately ruffled Freakazoid's hair, "Now do as I say a'fore I have to force it down y'throat."

"Yessir." Freakazoid brought the glass to his lips and drank it all without taking a breath. "Ah!" He held it up to Roddy, his face a picture of innocence. "More please?"

Roddy chuckled and took the proffered glass, "That's m'boy."

As expected, breakfast was delicious and Freakazoid consumed his share of it with the vigor of a black hole. No one really knew where he put it all. Roddy theorized the lad's powers were growing, which meant a significant increase in demand for energy to sustain them.

The Scotsman leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard, humbled by the knowledge that Freakazoid seemed to be enjoying himself, making small murmurs of approval as he ate. ' _Perhaps the lad's birthday isn't a complete bust, after all._ '

"I know it ain't much to say this now," said Cosgrove, pausing to wipe his mouth with a napkin. "—what and all with the hell you've been through recently, but I'd like to say that us being here together this morning is something worth being happy about."

"Aye," agreed Roddy.

For a moment, Freakazoid was at a loss for words. He blushed when he noticed he'd polished off his food long before either of his friends had theirs. "Uh h-heh," he floundered, "Thanks guys… I-I'm sorry it couldn't be better." He picked at a few remaining bits of egg on his plate and licked his fingers.

Cosgrove sipped his coffee, "Well, we still have a full day ahead of us, right?"

Freakazoid shook his head. "As much as I'd love to, I really need to get to California…," he trailed off, staring solemnly at his plate then suddenly blurted, "BUT YOU CAN COME VISIT ME! LA JOLLA IS A GREAT PLACE TO HANG OUT!"

"I'd like that," said Cosgrove, raising his coffee mug in a toast. "Happy Birthday, kid…"

Roddy raised his own mug and Freakazoid followed their example, clinking glasses. Afterward, he pushed back from the table and stood to take Freakazoid's plate. "I'll get ye s'more."

"Wow," exclaimed Freak. "Thanks Roddy! You're awesome!"

The Scotsman winked, "Y'better believe it!"

...

_The feel of something nudging his shoulder roused Freakazoid out of a restless sleep and he opened his eyes to total darkness. His arm swept out, reaching blindly for the thing that'd awakened him and was surprised when his hand came in contact with what felt like someone's ankle. He withdrew his hand with a startled jerk and rolled onto his back, his eyes straining to focus on the figure looming over him._

_"Who's there?"_

_"I'm offended. Have you forgotten me?"_

_Immediately, Freakazoid recognized the voice and with a strangled cry, scrambled out of bed only to realize that he wasn't even on a bed but a couch. He fell onto the hardwood floor with a yelp, confused as to how he'd gotten there until he remembered that he was no longer in D.C._

_At some point in the early afternoon, Roddy teleported Freakazoid through the net to the beach house in La Jolla, California. Feeling famished, Roddy ordered them something like fifteen pizzas for a late lunch—admittedly, Freak had eaten most of it himself. Afterward, Roddy had to go run a few important errands but promised to return, hopefully with good news regarding Freak's situation._

_Alone and suffering from a serious case of 'birthday blues', Freakazoid sat on the couch to watch a little mind numbing television and apparently passed out._

_Dexter chuckled, "Ya still with me, chief?" The toe of a shoe prodded Freak in the side, breaking him out of his reverie. "Food coma, huh?"_

_"Yeah," Freak sighed, relieved and comforted to hear Dexter's voice again. "I ate too much. Dunno why I'm so hungry all the sudden, s'not like I've done anything out of the usual… At this rate, I won't stay thin for long… You'll just have to call me Chunk and make me do the truffle shuffle."_

_There was an exasperated sigh and Freak cracked a smile, getting the distinct impression that Dexter was rolling his eyes at the Goonies reference._

_"As funny as that sounds—," Dexter chuckled, "Stop being so self conscious, already. You won't get fat. Roddy just forgot to explain that the increase in appetite is just a part of the change, the, quote unquote, "Integration". I realize you understand what's happing, to some degree, but allow me to simplify it a bit more. Think of it this way, you're kind of like Goku, now. Your power level's growing— and when all is said and done, you'll need all the energy you can get, just to survive."_

_Freak squinted, straining to see. "I get that but—," He started at the sound of retreating footsteps and in a panic, flew to his feet in pursuit. "HEY, where ya goin'—OW!" He winced as he knocked into an end table and sent the lamp atop it crashing to the floor. "Dexter?"_

_"It's going to get worse before it gets better," was the distant reply. "It won't be so bad once you get used to it."_

_"Whu-what do you mean?" With hands extended, Freakazoid felt around to ensure he didn't run into anything else. "We're in this together, right?"_

_Ignoring Freak's questions, Dexter continued, "Consider me that annoying little guy that sits on your shoulder to remind you of the consequential things in your life at the most inconvenient times— this is one of those moments..."_

_Freak growled his frustration at Dexter's evasive response, "Why're you being so evasive all the sudden?—and why the hell won't you stay still? I can't see you!" He stepped carefully toward the direction of the footsteps, finally able to discern the shadowy figure of a man standing at the other side of the room. "AH, there you are!"_

_"That's because—"_

_Freak held his breath as the face of Dexter materialized out of the gloom to cast an apologetic smile._

_"I'm really not here," said Dexter. "And you're really not awake."_

_Freakazoid exhaled slowly—his vision blurred. Dream be damned, he would not be denied—HUGBEES! After all the crap he'd been through in the last twenty four hours— he determinedly strode forward to close the distance between them, wanting nothing more than to simply embrace his terribly-missed counterpart._

_Dexter lifted a hand to the light switch on the wall. "I'm sorry." He flipped the switch, flooding the room with light, "It's time—"_

"— **TO WAKE UP WITH AL**!"

With a snort, Freakazoid jerked awake to the blaring sound of the Weather Channel's morning program "Waking up with Al". He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and checked the time on his watch. "6AM? Wow, I've slept over twelve hours…" He yawned and rolled over, groaning at the spasm in his lower abdomen. Damn, he REALLY had to pee, among other things. He shakily got up from the couch, minding that it was still mostly dark out and stopped dead in his tracks to stare at the end table. The lamp was conspicuously unbroken.

"It **was** a dream…" A sudden chill made him shiver and with a squeak of pain, bolted to the bathroom.

Moments later, his business done, Freakazoid plucked at the front of his shirt, which was now on its third day of use. He sniffed and made a face of disgust, surmising that it would be a good idea to take a shower and hastily undressed. He nudged the pile of dirty clothes with his foot into a corner of the bathroom, figuring he'd worry about washing them later.

Freak turned to check himself in the mirror and found a haggard version of the lively superhero he'd once been, staring back. His shoulders sagged as his thoughts drove him to recall dream-Dexter's cryptic message. Curiously, he asked his reflection, "What did you mean when you said that things will get worse before they get better? I know I'm changing, that's kind of obvious…" He looked down at himself and found nothing new except for maybe more nudity than he was used to, seeing as it was Dexter that usually took care of all the hygienic necessities. At least his healing factor had kicked in, albeit sluggish by his typical super human standards. The bruising of Duncan's beating no longer showed.

"I suppose saying I feel different is kind of an understatement…" There was a strange burning sensation in his chest that he wanted to call a bad case of heartburn but he couldn't help but feel suspicious that it might be something else.

With a pained expression, Freak leaned in to turn on the faucet then stepped into the shower stall. He gasped at the sudden spray of near scalding water and braced himself against the wall, shuddering at the relief of heat pelting his body. He reached for the loofa and body wash left behind from his and Dexter's last visit and promptly scrubbed himself raw. When he assessed he'd had a thorough scouring and the water had gone tepid, he turned off the water and stepped out in a cloud of steam.

Feeling significantly improved, he retrieved a towel to dry off then wrapped it around his waist. "Hope I find something clean to wear, otherwise I'll be wandering around in the buff."

Fortunately, luck was in his favor and Dexter, bless his heart, kept the master bedroom's chest of drawers stocked for those 'just in case of a sudden visit' type scenarios.

"Thanks Dex," Freak said, lamenting at the silence that followed. He had assumed that the dream meant there'd been some kind of a breakthrough— that all the drama with Dexter missing had finally blown over. Apparently, he was mistaken. He cast his eyes to heaven then down. It seemed like he was making a lot of dumb mistakes lately.

"There's not going to be an easy fix, is there?"

He didn't wait for a response that time and glumly assembled the things he needed— underwear, socks, knee length jean shorts, and a gray baseball t-shirt with long red sleeves.

At nearly a quarter till seven, Freakazoid emerged fully dressed and wandered back into the living room, pausing momentarily to observe Al Roker's weather predictions for the day. He shrugged, muted the television, and went to the love seat to rummage in his shoulder bag for his cell phone. His stomach had the audacity to growl as if he hadn't stuffed it full of pizza the night before. "Jeez, my metabolism must be through the roof! Well, breakfast for the black hole is just gonna have to wait a minute. I have an important call to make." He dialed the number (he knew it by heart) for Professor Heiney, whom he affectionately referred to as a surrogate Grandfather. He was promptly rewarded by the sound of the connecting dial tone.

"I sure hope he's not asleep…"

...

Somewhere in a self stabilizing underground lab in Santa Barbara, California, a cell phone rings, one of which only a trusted handful of people knew the number to. Ex villain and inadvertent hero of Earth, Dr. Drakken, extinguished the oxyacetylene torch he'd been using and carefully set it aside.

"Who the hell could be calling at such an ungodly hour?" He glanced at the atomic clock mounted on the wall and took a double-take, ' _6:42AM? Really?_ ' Apparently he and the Professor had completely lost track of time and worked clear through the evening on into the following day. He sighed, Shego would not be pleased to know he hadn't come to bed— not that he really required much sleep these days.

Drakken removed his welding goggles and gloves and looked over his shoulder, noticing the phone's owner was currently engrossed in the inner mechanics of a redesigned Turbofan jet engine. The tip end of a vine extended from beneath the hem of his shirt to the length of which it took to reach the cellular device resting on a nearby table. The vine, acting as a third appendage, deftly pressed the send button and brought the device to his ear.

"Good morning," greeted Drakken. "Roland Heiney is currently occupied. This is Dr. D speaking on his behalf. How may I help you?"

Freak arched a brow, not recognizing the answering voice, "Mornin' uh, Doc?" He winced, "This is Dexter Douglas. May I please speak to the Professor? Tell him it's urgent."

' _Dexter…_ ' Drakken thought, ' _Dexter Douglas._ ' It took a moment to register why he recognized that name. Then it dawned on him, "OH!" He face-palmed. "Dexter! I've heard so much about you. S'nice to finally have a voice to the name—just a second..." He lowered the phone and hollered, "Hey, Roland! Your grandson is on the line, says it's urgent."

The professor raised his head and adjusted his glasses. He glanced at the clock, "ACH! Dexter!" He wiped his grimy hands on an old terry cloth and eagerly grabbed the phone from Drakken's outstretched vine. "Guten Morgen, Dexter, I vas just about t'call you soon to tell you Happy Birthday und realized I've lost track of time und I'm a day late! So sorry, son—it's been—" He pinched the bridge of his bird-like nose, "—one of zose nights."

Understanding how engrossed the Professor could get working on his inventions, Freakazoid was hardly offended. "It's okay. Um, Professor, this isn't Dexter, I just said that to keep your friend there from knowing…" His voice took on a gravely tone. "It's Freakazoid! I meant to call you yesterday but I fell asleep… S-Something terrible happened to Dexter and I need your help!"

"Freakazoid?" The professor blinked rapidly in surprise, "Vat's wrong vit Dexter?"

Drakken, who had been scowling at the empty contents of his coffee thermos, looked up at the sound of an unusual name he hadn't heard of in what felt like ages. ' _Freakazoid? Hadn't he pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth or something?_ ' His curiosity piqued, he climbed out of his newest version of the hovercraft, better known as the 'Funky Fresh Flying Car', and quietly approached the Professor's work station.

"Dexter's been having some crazy power surges and the day before yesterday he got really sick and passed out," Freakazoid rambled. "—and there was this crazy nightmare like something from the twilight zone! I tried to talk to him but he was like a ghost and then I woke up and found that I was stuck and Dexter wasn't responding—Oh, and Duncan tried to kill me and GAWD! My parents **saw** me—MY COVER'S TOTALLY BLOWN!"

Roland glanced up at Drakken with a nod of assent and motioned for him to sit. "Slow down son, you're talking faster zan I can keep up vit you… Now explain to me slowly, vat happened und I vill see vat I can do, ya?"

"Sorry, I'm just—tryin' very hard not to spaz out, right now…" Clearly shaken, Freakazoid exhaled with an exaggerated huff. "Basically," he continued, "what started out as Dexter and I having random power surges, the night before last, something like a merge happened—something that Roddy is calling the 'integration'. Now I'm stuck as Freakazoid and I can't seem to communicate with Dexter at all! I can't reach him… I-I've lost him."

Roland was struck by the tone of Freakazoid's voice and he found his eyes tearing at the boy's struggle to maintain composure. It hit him hard, perhaps more than anyone because he knew what it was like to lose those nearest and dear to him—to watch the life drain away, helpless to stop it. His gaze fell to hell's souvenir, a faded blue serial number tattooed to the inside of his left forearm. He sighed through his nose, refusing to lose himself to his memories. "Und vat vas zat I heard about Duncan trying to kill you?"

Drakken's face went from a look of friendly concern to shock and opened his mouth as if to say something but Roland waved his hand in a 'shushing' motion. He pressed the receiver close to his ear so as he could listen better.

"Yeah," said Freak. "I was trying to sneak out of the house the old fashioned way and he took one look at me and went totally apeshit—tried to strangle me. I ended up breaking his nose to get free, while our parents watched. Jeez, and it broke my heart that I even made my mom cry– and she's normally one tough little cookie."

"Mein.. Gott…" The professor had a sudden hankering for a stiff drink. "I'm so sorry zis haz happened…und on your birthday…"

"Hands down, shittiest birthday EVER, except for maybe the part where Roddy and Cosgrove showed up to save the day— OH and Roddy cooked me breakfast. That was awesome."

"Are you sure Dexter isn't just in some kind of stasis?"

"That's what Roddy said… To me, it's like Dex is either not there at all or it's like that part of me is shut off completely, perhaps permanently— I'm goin' crazy—crazier than usual. I'm ready for this roller coast to end or I'm seriously gonna lose it." He coughed, "but there's this new development. I got this pain in my chest… burns like you wouldn't believe."

"Have courage, Freakazoid, I'm sure ve vill figure somesing out, ya? And for ze pain, my diagnosis iz heartburn or stress, likely both. Drink a glass of Pepcid AC und try not to eat anysing zat iz too acidic. Eat toast or somesing zat von't give you an upset stomach, ya?"

"Yah…" was Freak's somber reply.

"Now, vat does Roddy haf to say about all of zis?"

"Roddy figures he'll get some answers if he could use your equipment to run a few tests to see what's goin' on with my powers. The problem is that he hasn't known how to reach you since you relocated to California and I know you like to keep your privacy so I wanted to ask you first before I gave him the info. I figured it'll be easier for the both of you if I gave you his number and then you can call and give him an open IP address to port to—"

"Of course!" Roland cried, "Just let me get somesing to jot ze number down." He turned quickly to search for a pen and note pad but found Drakken presenting him with said items.

Roland smiled his thanks. "Alright," he said into the receiver, cradling the phone with his shoulder. "I've got vat I need, go ahead."

Freakazoid told him the number and Roland scrawled it down in a hurry.

"Vhere are you?"

"I'm in La Jolla at a beach house that belongs to Dexter."

"La Jolla," Roland repeated, noticing Drakken's expression of astonishment and continued to scrawl down the address given to him. "Zat iz not far from here…"

"My cousin, Royce, lives down there," muttered Drakken, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Now, Freakazoid, I need you to try und remain calm, take zat pepcid and try to relax. Perhaps take a valk on ze beach, ya? Ze scenery is quite lovely. It vill be good medicine for you to distract yourself from focusing too much on your vorries."

"Okay…"

"I vill be in touch vit you soon but I must let you go for ze moment so I can call Roddy und discuss our next course of action."

"Thanks, professor."

"You're quite velcome, m'boy. Talk to you soon."

"G'bye."

"Auf Wiederhören." Roland pressed the end button to hang up the phone and felt a vine prod him in the shoulder. He looked at Drakken who had his arms crossed expectantly.

"Pardon me for eves dropping—," said D. "—but my cousin Royce used to tell me stories about his ex foe, Freakazoid—said he disappeared nearly a decade ago... Are he and Dexter familiar with one another or—?"

The unspoken truth hung between them like the proverbial carrot on a string and Roland fully understood that Drakken was no fool. However, he'd made a promise to Dexter long ago to keep his identity a secret. However, at that moment it seemed pointless. He smiled sheepishly, feeling silly for having slipped up after so many years. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest vit you Dee. My intention vas to respect Dexter's need for privacy but it seems now zat cannot be maintained. You see, Dexter und Freakazoid are one in ze same…"

"You know," said D, "As often as you talk about them, I got that impression, but I figured you'd fill me in whenever it was appropriate. Kind of explains his disappearance though—Dexter going off to college and getting a job, something we all do at some point in our lives."

Roland nodded.

"So," Drakken began. "With **that** cat out of the bag, I just want to know one thing."

"Und vat vould zat be?"

"Are we expecting company?"

"Ya," the professor affirmed, relieved that Drakken was not upset. "My good friend Roddy MacStew invented ze device zat transformed Dexter into Freakazoid. He vishes to conduct a series of tests vit my help to figure out vhy Freakazoid's powers haf become so unstable und also vhy Dexter haz gone missing."

Drakken's eyes narrowed, "I get the impression there's a great deal to this story that you've yet to explain… and since you've regretted to inform me of any of this until now, my only condition is that before I willingly lend my assistance— is a **full** briefing."

"Of course!" exclaimed Roland. "I certainly owe you zat much! But zat vill haf to wait for a moment… I must call Roddy to see vat he haz planned."

"Hn, I'll start the espresso maker. I'm in the mood for a latte. Would you like some as well?"

"Sounds good,Danke schön."

"You're welcome—it looks to be a looong day ahead of us."

Following his call to the Professor, Freakazoid rummaged through an empty kitchen and discovered a small stock of various canned goods. His breakfast of champions (not) consisted of a veritable cornucopia of mixed fruits and veggies, but due to his persistent heartburn, he regretted eating those Spaghetti O's on top of everything else.

At first, he assumed his hunger had something to do with the heartburn but food had done nothing to improve it. In fact, it felt worse than before, like a goddamn inferno. His search for the elusive Pepcid AC to cure what ailed him resulted in failure and when the news, weather reports, and cheesy morning cartoons failed to distract him from his pain, he decided to go for a walk on the beach. Perhaps the Professor was on to something when he suggested it. Fresh air and a change of scenery would do him wonders...

...

Considering that when it came to public appearances, Freakazoid's blue skin and crazy hair tended to attract unwanted attention, so a beach relatively void of life, save for a few lone joggers was a welcome respite. As long as he didn't make eye contact with passersby, he wouldn't have to feel guilty for brushing them off. Regardless of what it might look like to anyone else, Freak wasn't out to make a spectacle of himself. He had needs like any normal person and after recent events he desperately wanted to feel _some_ sense of normalcy.

Holding his shoes and socks in one hand, he paused to curl his toes into the sand as the ebb and flow of the waves lapped his ankles. He looked around at the expansive view of the Pacific skyline and briefly lost himself to the peace it instilled.

A murmur of voices and an electronic click interrupted his brief moment of tranquility and he glanced over his shoulder, clearly annoyed. A brilliant flash temporarily blinded him, making spots dance in his vision. "Hey!" he shouted, "What gives?"

A hand held recorder appeared next to his face. "Are you Freakazoid?" a man's voice inquired.

Freakazoid blinked, quickly recovering his sight and noticing a clean shaven gentleman an inch or two shy of his own height of 6'1", wearing casual attire and a baseball cap that bore the logo of a local news station.

' _Great, a Reporter_ ,' he thought sarcastically. ' _This is what I get for taking a walk in an upscale ocean side community with a friggin' park and lots of publicity…_ ' He sighed, sounding wholly unamused, "In the flesh."

The man raised an expensive looking hand held camera with a telephoto lens, his finger hovering over the shudder release.

Freak help up a hand to obscure his face. "No photography, please—I'm really not cool with that."

The camera was lowered back to where it hung around the man's neck and the recorder was shoved back in his face again. "Freakazoid, reports out of Washington say that you've been missing for the past nine years. Your whereabouts unknown, many presumed you were dead. What happened to cause your disappearance, where have you been, and what brought you all the way to La Jolla, California?"

Freakazoid looked around him, noticing that the man's incessant questioning was drawing the attention of early beachgoers. "I'm—really not at the liberty to say." He started to walk away but the muted thud of hasty footsteps reminded him that media hounds were not easily dissuaded.

"S-Sir! SIR!" the man shouted. "If you could just— Mr. Freakazoid, if you could just answer a few questions?"

Pretending not to hear, Freak quickened his pace and thought of an old mantra Roddy taught him. ' _All is peace, all is calm—brick._ ' He froze in mid step, ' _Wait, where'd that come from?_ '

**-Click-**

Freakazoid visibly stiffened. Okay, now **that** just cheesed him off—the fact that his kind request for "no photography, please" was purposefully ignored.

Totally unaware of the line he'd crossed, the Reporter continued, raising the camera to his eye, "The public wants to know…"

In a whirl, faster than the eye could see, Freakazoid snatched the camera from around the Reporter's neck, snapped off the telephoto lens and tossed it over his shoulder into the ocean.

The man shrieked like a little girl, "My camera! You broke it!" He went to grab what remained of it but Freak held it up out of reach. "Why would you break my livelihood?"

"It was more satisfying that way and you didn't listen when I asked you nicely NOT to take my picture! So HERE!" He dropped the camera into the photographer's shaking hands.

The man fiddled anxiously with the device, checking the side compartment for something only to discover that it was missing. "…Can I have my memory card back, too?"

Freak yelled with gale force, "NO!"

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DO THAT!" was the man's furious retort. "I WAS JUST DOIN' MY JOB, YOU **ASSHOLE**!"

Freakazoid arched a brow, bristling at the insult. "Ah, the asshole," he snarked, "One of the many orifices of the body… Wanna find out how many of them that **piece of crap** fits into? I know a **lot** of ways to hide things that even the TSA won't ever hope to find!"

Taken aback at Freak's retort, the Reporter shrank back and said in a small voice, "No."

"GOOD!" Freak stomped off in the opposite direction without a second glance.

...

Unbeknownst to Freakazoid, his entire exchange with the wayward newshound had drawn the attention of a particular individual who had been lounging on a deck with a cliff side vantage.

A woman leaned precariously over the railing to peer down at the beach, blocking the glare of the sun with a hand shading her eyes. Her gaze followed Freak's retreating form, recognizing the unmistakable hair style and teal blue skin.

In sheer disbelief, she stammered, "Oh-oh my god!" Was she seeing things or was that really who she thought it—"YES! YES IT IS!" With an unnatural agility, she vaulted over the table to reach the other side of the deck so as not to lose sight of her target. "ROYCE!"

At the sound of his name being called, a herculean figure in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts appeared at the back door, watching in alarm as his wife kicked off her sandals and sprinted down the steps leading to the sand below. "Audrey!" He called after her, but she was already well out of ear shot. He rushed to pursue her with a huff, thanking his lucky stars that he had lost enough weight to keep up.

"FREAKAZOID!"

' _Oh, what NOW_!' Still furious from his earlier encounter, Freakazoid turned to berate the next reporter only to find a woman with gray-green skin and short dark hair running toward him across the sand. He stood transfixed because something about her seemed terribly familiar and there weren't many people he knew with her particular complexion.

Then—it dawned on him like a smack to the face. "Ahhh, NUTBUNNIES!" Even though she wore a sleeveless mint colored summer dress instead of the cobra patterned body suit, he recognized her face and those almond shaped eyes. "Cobra Queen—the hell is SHE doing here?" He took a step back, tensed in preparedness for the possibility of a violent confrontation only to be taken utterly by surprise when she leap up to throw her arms around his neck.

"FREAKAZOID!" she cried. "YOU'RE ALIVE!"

Freak stumbled and would have toppled over if not for the large hand that caught him at the small of his back. He raised his head to see who or what stopped his fall—his jaw dropped.

"C-Cave guy?"

The 8 foot tall blue behemoth smiled down at him, casting Freakazoid completely in his shadow. "We thought you were dead, ol' chap," he said firmly, though there was a subtle quaver to his voice.

Nervous butterflies fluttered in Freakazoid's stomach and it seemed to take an eternity for him to regain the ability to speak. A pair of hands cradled his face, turning him to look down at the woman in his arms. He blinked once, twice—"A-are you—CRYING?"

Cobra Queen smiled, "I s-sssuppose so… We spent so much time looking for you." She hugged him again, squeezing him as though afraid he'd disappear again.

"We were worried," said Cave Guy, looking behind him to find that all the commotion Freakazoid caused had drawn a crowd. "Perhaps we should take this to more private quarters. We're an odd looking bunch as it is and I'm not comfortable in sharing the details of our lives with the entire world."

Freak nodded dumbly— having never expected to see his old nemesis happy to see him let alone acting concerned in regard to his well being. In fact, if memory served him correctly, the last time he saw them, they'd corralled him into an abandoned theme park, tried to kill him, whilst making off with that gaudy crown of the Czar they'd stolen. "Worried?" he parroted.

Cobra Queen took Freakazoid's hand and guided him to a flight of steps leading up to a house perched high on the bluff. He astonishingly followed without complaint, too enamored by such an unexpected encounter to resist.

"Yes," stated Cave Guy, " **Worried**."

"YOU? The one and only Cave Guy who wanted nothing more than to crush me into powder? WORRIED?"

"Of course and it's Royce. I threw in the towel to my alias, ages ago."

Freakazoid's face went blank. "Wut?"

"My NAME," was the impatient reply. "IS ROYCE MUMPRIES. NOT CAVE GUY."

"Formerly known as Cave Guy who threw in his loin cloth to become mild mannered Royce Mumphries, got it…"

Royce glowered at Freak's attempt to goad him.

Reaching the top of the steps, Freak proceeded to the deck and it was there that he stopped to give the Mumphries' residence an appraising eye. "NICE, place…"

"Thank you—," Said Royce, "By the way, you should also know that my wife's name is Audrey, not simply Cobra Queen."

Freak grinned slyly, "Wife, huh? You sort of had a thing going on between you two when I last saw ya."

Audrey sniffed, dabbing the moisture from her eyes, "We moved here to reform ourselves. After Royce proposed and we set a date for the wedding, we went searching for you, hoping you'd attend." She motioned to a table beneath the lanai and sat, Freak following her example. "We even posted an invitation in the local papers where you were last known to live, hoping you'd read it. When that didn't work, we implored Jack's services to find you but he turned up nothing. It was like you'd fallen off the face of the Earth…"

"Jack?" Freakazoid looked inquisitively between them.

"You know," Royce coaxed, taking his own seat, "THE Jack."

"That candle wielding nutcase?" Freakazoid exclaimed, clearly shocked.

Royce smirked, "The one and only."

"Wow, you guys still keep that kind of company, eh? More power to y-" It was then that something suddenly dawned on Freak, something so obvious yet so— He stared. Just. Stared.

Alarmed at his silence, Royce glanced at Audrey, who shrugged, then looked back at Freakazoid. "What—there something on my face?"

Freak shook his head rapidly, jabbing a shaking finger at Royce. "You—You used to be..." He spread his arms out far from his sides to emphasize his meaning.

Heat rushed to Royce's face, turning it a lovely shade of lavender as he regarded the smaller man with an acerbic tone, "Huge?"

Audrey burst out laughing.

"That's— **not** the word I was going to use," argued Freak. "But since **you** brought it up—yes." He chuckled, "How'd you do it?"

Audrey still hadn't gained full control of herself—still giggling.

Royce rolled his eyes and shook his head, smiling despite his initial embarrassment, "I got married to a beautiful woman and fathered a son who has more energy than he knows what to do with. Have you ever tried to keep up with a rambunctious little boy?"

Freak opened his mouth to reply.

Royce held up a hand to interrupt him, "Don't. Answer that. Of course you can." He rubbed his brow and ran his hand down the length of his face, "I forgot who I'm talking to… Hyper-active's your middle name. But yes, I lost weight, a lot, in fact. "

Freak narrowed his focus on Audrey and her shapely figure, which betrayed nothing of her motherhood, "So…You had a kid?"

It was Audrey's turn to blush, "Yes."

"How long ago?"

"He turned five in May."

"Wow, you have HAVE been busy!" Freak sat back in his chair, staring at the Audrey and Royce he no longer knew. "Five and a half… I—never imagined you guys havin' kids… but damn, that's awesome!"

"His name is Aaron," said Audrey. "He's at school at the moment; otherwise I'd introduce you… Today is a half day though so the bus should be dropping him off some time close to one o' clock."

Royce glanced down at his Rolex, "We have a few hours yet. It's only half past nine."

"He goes to school?" Freak balked. "Like, normal school? How'd you manage THAT? I had it rough just being the resident four eyed computer NERD—can't imagine looking like this and surviving…" He trailed off, noticing that both Royce and Audrey had fallen silent, listening intently. He coughed, "So how 'bout them San Diego Chargers, huh?"

"He attends the first grade level at a school for the gifted," said Royce, ignoring Freakazoid's ridiculous attempt to redirect the subject of their conversation from his past. "The school board is comprised of individuals like us."

"Ah, kind of like Xavier's school for gifted youngters in the X-Men comics. I getcha. That's neat. You'll have to tell me more about that later."

"Sure."

"OH, silly me," piped Audrey. "Freakazoid, would you like anything? A drink—perhaps something to eat?"

Freak made an odd face and placed a hand on his chest. "Yeah, now that you mention it… You're gonna think me weird for sayin' this but I've got this god awful heartburn and I don't have anything to help it… Do you mind offering an ailing freak a little something to take the edge off?"

Royce waved his hand dismissively. "That's not odd at all. I'll go get it—be right back." He rose from the table and went through the sliding glass door and disappeared inside.

Freak's smile wavered, feeling awkward while alone in the company of the renowned Cobra Queen. His eyes narrowed, half expecting a giant snake to come slithering out to devour him.

"You don't seem yourself," Audrey whispered.

"Nah, S'pose not…" Freak said tiredly, "I've had a really— **really** shitty week and I'm feelin' like crap on a crap cracker, actually…"

"I'm— sorry to hear that."

Freak shrugged. "You win some, ya lose some..." He quieted, propping his chin in one hand and staring at the ocean.

Audrey observed him quietly, realizing that whatever assumptions she made of him were not what they should be, that in the time that passed, the zany, child-like Freakazoid had grown up. What replaced him was the look of a haunted man. Her acute intuition screamed that something was bothering him but it was far too soon to voice her concerns for fear that she might frighten him away. However, there _was_ something she felt comfortable to say. "Freakazoid," she began, "I would like to offer you a more formal apology—that it has always been my hope that you will find the heart to forgive us for our past indiscretions—"

"Let bygones be bygones," he interjected, the smile returning to his face.

She nodded. "Royce shares my feelings on this but he is too proud to ask this of you himself."

"I understand and thank you." Freakazoid's expression grew solemn, feeling deep down that it would take time to let go of his uncertainty and learn to trust them. "I forgive you," he said softly. "Both of you—I'm just sorry I wasn't around for the wedding… I had a lot going on then and when you're distracted, time flies. The years…" He paused as Royce stepped outside and set a fizzing glass of Pepcid AC in front of him. "Just sort of flew by," he finished. "Thanks, man. You're a godsend."

Royce sat back down, noticing the shift in Freakazoid's demeanor, "You alright, old boy?"

Freak's eyes glinted as he brightened, "Yeah." He tipped the contents of the glass into his mouth to choke it down all at once. "Augh!" he groaned and made a disgusted face. "Now I remember why I hate this stuff. BLEH!" He shuddered, "That is just VILE."

"I doubt anyone likes it but it helps," Audrey said.

"True," admitted Freak, feeling a bit better.

"Pardon me, not to sound nosey, but did you move here recently?" inquired Royce. "I've never seen you around town before…"

"Recently?" asked Freak. "Yes—like, yesterday, two blocks east and about a mile and a half down the street from here."

Both Audrey and Royce's brows shot up. "Really?" they said in unison.

"Yeah," Freak said. "I purchased the place online a few years ago and visited periodically when I felt I needed a little R and R. My most recent visit was last year during Labor Day weekend. OH and you wouldn't have recognized me even if you **had** seen me."

With dawning comprehension, Royce wondered, "Oh? You have a secret identity, then?"

Freakazoid's expression grew serious, "Yeah. So don't get your britches in a bunch when I conveniently decline to divulge further."

"I respect that."

"Well, that certainly explains why we couldn't find you," Audrey surmised.

Unwilling to let go of his mounting curiosity regarding Freakazoid being MIA for so long, Royce pressed the issue, "Is there anything you **can** tell us? Your lack of wanting to explain anything is a might suspicious."

Freakazoid stood stiffly, hands flat against the table top. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you with details of my personal life? Seriously, you've been nice to me so far but how am I supposed to know if this is real or just some elaborate act to get me to let down my guard?"

Rumbling his irritation, Royce stared balefully at Freak and also stood, flaunting his considerable bulk. "Does our concern matter to you at all or are you so stuck in the past that you can't accept that we've changed? What part of "we were worried" don't you get? If Audrey or I were trying to manipulate you, we would not have jeopardized ourselves or the life of our son to welcome you as a guest in our house!"

"Royce," Audrey warned. "Calm yourself. I'll not have you instigating a fight or I may be forced to intervene. Freakazoid DOES have a legitimate reason to be distrustful. Pushing him will only exacerbate the issue." She got up, surprising Freak by grasped his wrist and tugging him toward the back door but not before glaring at her temperamental husband. "YOU. STAY."

Royce appeared to deflate under his wife's biting glare and held up his hands in submission. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll– stay out here for a bit."

Audrey returned her attention to Freakazoid, "Come and help me in the kitchen. I need an extra pair of hands and sitting in the sun and heat isn't going to help with your indigestion."

"It's not that hot," Freak said, allowing himself to be lead through the living room and looked amazed when brought to a kitchen fit for a five star restaurant.

"It will be. This IS California, after all," said Audrey. "—and I need an excuse to start early on making a decent lunch before Aaron gets home. You''ll be joining us won't you?"

"Sure," said Freak, not willing to argue with a woman whose ire made her proverbial hulk of a husband look like a kicked puppy.

Unaware of Freakazoid's awe at her powers of intimidation, Audrey asked sweetly, "Would you care if I started up a pot of tea? Do you even like tea?"

"I LOVE tea, hot or iced," Freak said. "Just tell me where everything is and I can help."

Audrey let go of his arm and patted his shoulder. "Nevermind that, hon. I've got that taken care of. What you CAN do is go to the fridge and get out the eggs. I'm up for egg salad and once we've started there I'm sure we can whip up anything else that comes to mind. My boys eat well so I'll be cooking a lot anyway. By the way, how's your appetite?"

Freak smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I kind of had this wicked 'growth spurt' recently and— you know, I really don't want to impose..."

"Nonsense," interrupted Audrey.

"I eat a lot. I mean— A LOT. You can't even imagine... I like, totally decimated my pantry today and the night before I plowed through fourteen pizzas like they were nothing while my friend could barely finish one."

"I **can** imagine. It happens under this roof on a daily basis and if you don't believe me, you should see my grocery bill. So don't be shy and get those eggs. There should be two dozen on the bottom shelf."

"Yes Ma'am!"

...

During a time where Freak felt his most vulnerable, it came as such a relief that he could distract himself with something as basic as cooking. The fact that he was doing it alongside someone like Cobra Queen came as an even bigger shock. She had even invited him to lunch so long as he lent a hand and enjoyed himself. Freakazoid wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth and naturally accepted the terms she'd set and went to work.

They chatted about general things, anything that didn't have to do with his personal life, which he assumed was intentional. Audrey's thoughtfulness apparently knew no bounds and for the first time in ages, Freakazoid felt completely at ease. The heartburn-inferno had even dissipated to a point that he hardly noticed unless he actually thought about it. Even then, the pain was manageable.

He hadn't realized the hours had flown so quickly until two minutes shy of 1:00 PM, the front door opened and closed and a small voice shouted, "Mommy! Daddy! I'm HOME!"

"I'm in the kitchen, honey!" Audrey called without losing focus on the elaborate salad bowl she'd prepared.

The sound of a book bag and shoes being set to the floor could be heard, which were soon followed by the patter of little feet rushing across the hardwood floor.

Audrey glanced at Freakazoid who had stepped away from the counter and happened to look down to find a little boy staring up at him with wide, dark eyes. While his hair and eye color could have originated from any one parent, his skin was bluer than it was green. His facial features, nose, mouth, and eyes were very much his father's—minus the Neanderthal forehead— but all the little subtleties of his visage were definitely contributions of his Mother. Freakazoid smiled so big his face ached. Royce and Audrey's kid was positively adorable.

"Hi," said the boy.

"Hi," greeted Freak.

Audrey laid down the knife she'd been using and placed a hand at the small of Freakazoid's back. "Aaron, I'd like you to meet Mr. Freakazoid. Do you remember me telling you all those stories about him?"

Aaron's eyes grew huge with wonder and amazement as though he'd just met Santa Clause or something.

Freak crouched down so that they were eye level, "Hey there, I've heard so much about you, Aaron. Please to meet y-OMPH!" He was nearly bowled over as the kid, whose powers he learned then was super strength, threw himself into his arms.

"You're HERE!" cried Aaron. "Mommy and Daddy said they were looking everywhere for you and you're FINALLY HERE! Daddy says you like cartoons and comics and that he even went to a sci-fi convention with you and met a kling-on!"

Royce chose that time to step in, presuming that he was no longer in the dog house and chuckled at the sight of his son chattering away like a bird in a tree. "Apparently someone's happy to meet the "one and only Freakazoid" at last," he mused. "Or should that be the other way around?"

"WE SHOULD WATCH CARTOONS TOGETHER!" shouted Aaron. "LOONEY TOONS ARE ON!"

Freak beamed up at Royce and Audrey, looking as though he'd won the jackpot. The wordless desire of "can I pleeeease?" shimmered in his eyes.

Royce laughed and gave a dismissive wave of his arm, "Go on you two. I'll help finish up lunch and call you when it's ready."

Both Freakazoid and Aaron were gone in a flash, huddled on the living room floor in front of the television like a couple of rabid fan girls.

"I don't know whose worse," said Royce. "Aaron or Freakazoid?"

"I wager they'll be inseparable from this day forth," agreed Audrey. "I had a feeling they'd bond right away. Freakazoid could always relate more to children than he ever could with adults. It's that youthful spirit of his..."

"Indeed," said Royce. "Though, I still say the man's a buffoon." He yipped at the sting of a spatula swatted across his rear and he looked sharply at his wife. "What'd I do now?" he complained.

Audrey shook the offending spatula in his face. "Behave yourself or its back to the doghouse for you."

That earned her a scowl. "You're a difficult woman to love, you know that?"

…

…

Much to Royce and Audrey's collective amusement, lunch ended up being served to the two "boys" on the coffee table, who were far too engrossed to be bothered with such formalities as sitting at the table.

The food was demolished and Audrey collected their dishes, happy in the knowledge that the dark cloud that had settled over Freakazoid seemed to have passed. Hopeful that this would do well in encouraging his typically easy-going nature, she hadn't the heart to disturb him.

The afternoon was spent with Royce reading in the study and Audrey browsing her laptop, both parents safe in the knowledge that their son was being well monitored.

Audrey smiled, glad that whatever internet malfunction occurred the day before had finally been fixed. She blogged about her day via facebook, sharing the little amusing moments between Aaron and her "guest", gushing about the fact that all seemed right with the world since acquiring her long lost "friend".

"ZZZZZZOOOM!"

The sound of feet pounding down the hallway pulled her from her musings to look up just soon enough to see Freakazoid darting past the door. "ZZZZZZZOOOM," he continued, imitating the sound of an airplane with Aaron held up over his head as if the boy weighed nothing. She quirked a brow, then looked over at Royce who was no longer reading, mirroring her expression of confusion.

The reverb of Aaron's squeals of laughter were soon followed by Freak dashing back up the hall again, still shouting, "ZZZZZZZOOOM!"

Royce rolled his eyes and hid his face behind his book, his shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

Audrey stifled a giggle, her eyes falling to the time at the corner of her computer screen. She gave a start. "Wow, is it nearly six already?"

"Has it been that long?" wondered Royce. "Goodness the day has just flown… I DO believe we've found the sitter we've been looking for, dear heart. I'm beginning to enjoy this little reprieve of ours… I could easily get used to this."

"ZZSSSSSSHSSSSHOOOOOM!"

Aaron was still laughing as Freakazoid darted past the door a third time, making the sound as though homing in for a final landing.

Audrey peeked into the hallway, watching Freak swing Aaron down and up to fall back into his arms. "Man," he said. "I haven't done THAT in YEARS!"

"Again!" cried Aaron. "AGAIN! AGAIN!"

"Not to be a party pooper," said Audrey. "But I just realized the time and you, little man, need to start getting ready for your bath while I start dinner."

"Actually, honey," suggested Royce. "Why don't we just order delivery for tonight? Chinese sound good?"

"That's fine, dear," Audrey replied.

"YAY!" Aaron cheered as Freakazoid set him back down to his feet. "I want General Tso's 'an FORTUNE COOKIES!"

"I hear you," his mother chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Off with you now and I better hear that water running and you splashing around in it in the next ten minutes. Otherwise I'll have to come in there and scrub you down just to be sure you do it right this time—and don't let me catch you with Keo in the bath again!"

"NOOO!" wailed Aaron, hugging Freakazoid's legs. "Sorry Freak, but I gotta go… I promise to see ya in a bit!" He darted off to his bedroom at the end of the hall to gather his PJs for bed.

"That's okay Munchkin," said Freak. "I'll be here when you're done." He winked, watching Aaron go then turned to Audrey. "Who's Keo?"

"His pet corn snake."

"Oh!" Freak scratched his temple, "A snake. That's cool, and makes sense. Ya know, considering you're Cobra Queen and all."

Audrey nudged his side with her elbow, "I take it you had fun?"

"Best belated birthday gift, EVER!" he pulled her into a hug. "You guys raised an awesome kid!"

Audrey regarded him for a moment, curious as to why he hadn't mentioned that it was his birthday. If she'd known she would have done something. "Is it your birthday?" she asked, looking crestfallen.

"Ah, don't sweat it," chided Freak. "It was yesterday and honestly, I'd just rather forget the whole thing ever happened."

Having overheard them, Royce approached from behind and asked, "How old are you?"

Freak pulled away from Audrey, suddenly nervous in their close proximity and turned to face the looming figure filling the study entryway. "Twenty-seven," he said meekly.

It was Royce's turn to look surprise, "Hn, you're a lot older than I thought…"

Freakazoid shrugged, "I seem younger 'cuz I'm young at heart, which really just means that I'm totally immature...." He paused to chuckle as his gaze lowered to stare at his feet. "It's a horrifying moment when you're looking for an adult, but you realize you are an adult, so you look around for an older adult, an adultier adult, someone better at adulting than you."

Audrey was the first before her husband to notice an abrupt shift in Freakazoid's mood, the laughter in his eyes fading to be replaced by the shadows that lurked beyond that deceptive visage of joy. It seemed, that despite all the positive factors of the day, there was something else far more serious that troubled the young man and it was getting harder and harder to pretend that everything was fine.

"It's late," said Freak, seemingly disoriented by the loss of time and that nightfall was already upon them. "I should get going. I'm way overdue to report to a friend of mine…"

"But I ordered you dinner as well," said Royce, sounding disappointed. "Won't you stay just a while longer? At least until Aaron has a chance to finish his bath? That way the delivery gets here in approximately forty minutes or so and we can send you on your way with your portion. At least that way you won't go hungry."

"Mommy?" hollered Aaron. "I need help."

Audrey excused herself, momentarily leaving the men to fend for themselves as she disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Freakazoid sighed. "Thank you so much, for everything but—"

"Chap," interrupted Royce. "I don't know what's troubling you and I'm not likely to understand what all goes on in that crazy head of yours but I KNOW one thing, **you** need a drink. Consider it a toast to the occasion—How about it?"

Freakazoid knew an invitation when he heard it, seeing that it was another transparent means of getting him to talk— to draw him out of whatever shell he attempted to climb back into. God if they only knew half of why he felt so empty and lost without the comforting distraction that such joys as Aaron could provide… His Dexter was still— His eyes watered as a sudden- sharp twinge in his chest reminded him of the not-so-affectionately named inferno that burned like the friggin' pitch fork from hell. Okay, at this point, it was either a serious case of acid reflux rather than the initial, 'hi, I'm your friendly neighborhood heartburn' or something else— Freak was leaning toward that 'something else' category but he wasn't ready to admit that it had anything to do with his most recent issues. He shuddered, okay— he was SO not going there because if he did, he might not be able to—

"Actually," said Freak. "A drink sounds nice."

"Thataboy."

...

...

Freakazoid was outside again at the very same deck where his day with the Mumphries began. He watched the last strip of a burnt orange sun disk disappearing below the horizon into the great nothingness were the sky bled into the sea. He nursed a crown royal on the rocks, thinking that maybe he should not have been so gung ho about the drinks. Royce had NO idea that he was a light weight and rarely—if ever—drank. It just made his head feel fuzzy and he didn't like the absence of coordination and headaches it incurred. However, as the Tasmanian Devil-whirl of his metabolism blew into a full spitting fury, his gradual intake of liquor was vigorously absorbed. Suddenly, his concern about getting trashed or not sort of got thrown out the window or into the sea—ocean—whatever.

By the third drink, Freak was beyond the level of "slightly intoxicated" and big guy over there, Royce, was downing the stuff like it barely fazed him.

The green streak of jealousy whapped Freak in the face and he withheld the urge to flail about like a madman to do whatever it was he intended to do about his… ' _That Neanderthal butt-face, lookin' so smug like "I'm so cool I can drink you under the table you scrawny assed weakling"_.' He hiccupped, groaning as the motion aggravated the headache he'd developed. What was it that he was supposed to do again?

Audrey stood near the back door, watching her son playing the game cube in his PJs as they all waited for the inevitable summons of the doorbell heralding the arrival of the Chinese delivery guy. "You gave him too much to drink," she protested.

"Every man needs to get shit faced at some point in his life," said Royce. "Besides, we missed his birthday and I'm making up for **all** those missed opportunities." He sipped his long island iced tea, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Freakazoid wore a very subdued look on his face as he regarded Royce. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

It took a minute for Royce to think about why Freakazoid would ask him such an impertinent question out of the blue and offered a cautious response, "Yes, I have— in an act of self defense." His expression grew curious and countered with a tentative query of his own, "Why do you ask?"

Freakazoid shrugged, "No reason." He closed his eyes and tipped back his head to down the remains of his drink. "It's just something that's been on my mind," he said, sounding wistful. "I— recently lost someone…'n I think it's my fault..." His voice cracked and he gripped his head. "Ugh!"

Audrey glanced nervously at her husband then back at Freakazoid, "Care to talk about it?"

"No!" Freak said a little too loudly then turned awkwardly to set his glass on the table, "Yanno, I think I should go now. I've overstayed my welcome…"

Audrey looked stricken, "That's nonsense! We've enjoyed your company! It's just that your question took us by surprise..."

"We're not trying to pry," Royce affirmed. "We're simply concerned. It was not our intention to cause you undue stress…"

Freakazoid sighed. "T'was a retarded question…'an I have such a big blabber mouth." There was a sway in his gait as he approached the far side of the balcony and he would have stumbled if Royce hadn't caught him by the arm to steady him.

"At least let me walk you home?"

Freakazoid squinted up at Royce, wondering how a guy so big could move so quickly. "Shhhhuurrre... but—not the whole way— I'm not as think as you drunk I am, kay?"

Royce grimaced with the effort it took not to laugh out loud, "All right, at least half way then?"

Freak nodded, "I **accept** yer wager." He started forward but Royce's firm grip held him fast.

"I'll be back shortly," Royce said to his wife. "Give Aaron a kiss for me."

"That's just weird hearin' you say that," Freak cut in.

"I doubt I'll be back before he finishes his dinner," Royce finished.

Audrey walked up to Freak and gave him a hug, smiling as she felt him return the gesture with a one armed squeeze. She pulled away to look him dead in the eye, "Take care of yourself, Freakazoid and please don't hesitate to visit. Royce and I would love to have you over again, Aaron too."

Freak nodded, saying nothing.

Audrey stood on her toes to kiss her husband good-bye then kissed Freakazoid's cheek. She hugged herself as she watched the two men slowly descend the stairs. She jumped at the unexpected sound of the sliding glass door opening.

"Mommy?" A small voice called. "The doorbell rang."

Audrey whirled to find Aaron peeking out the back door and hurried to meet him, "Thank you for listening for it." She took his hand, walking with him to the front door, "Do you still have the pay money in the envelope your daddy gave you?"

Aaron nodded, glancing over his shoulder, "Where's Mr. Freakazoid going with Daddy?"

"He had to go home and your Daddy is walking with him but he promised to return and visit with us later."

Aaron frowned, "O-kay."

"BUT," his mother added cheerily. "He wanted me to let you know that he had a good time hanging out and watching cartoons with you."

Aaron brightened, "YEAH! That was fun! I drew him a picture earlier 'an stuck it to the fridge. Could'ja give it to him tomorrow?"

Audrey leaned down and kissed her son's forehead, "Sure thing, sweetie."

Freakazoid couldn't remember much of what he and Royce talked about during their walk up the beach. It all just sort of blurred together into a lump of jibberish. He slowed to a stop when they'd reached the half way point and stared up at his escort.

Both out of obligation as a host as well as guilt due to the level of Freak's inebriation, Royce seemed reluctant to abandon him.

"Srsly, Royce… M'gonna be fine. I'll walk real slow-like and stuff… If I fall over, what's a little sand in the face? It might sting a little but I'll just brush myself off, maybe swear a little … I'm like the energizer bunny, dontcha know? I'll keep right on goin'."

Royce chuckled, "If you say so…"

After ten minutes of cajoling Freakazoid to reconsider and walk back to the house with him to crash in the guest room, Royce finally gave up trying. He did consider the idea of simply knocking him out and throwing him over his shoulder. Alas, he concluded that it would not be in good taste to render Freakazoid unconscious so soon after reuniting. As former foes, such an act would not do well for their newly kindled friendship.

Royce did make Freakazoid promise to call him to let him know he'd gotten home safely; otherwise he'd be pounding on his door or in his case, pound IN his door, to check on him— whichever came first. They embraced, patting one another on the back and bade a fond farewell. Freakazoid watched him go, cursing the fact that he'd given his ex foes the address to his beach house in addition to his number. "Dumb thing to do," Freak scolded, beating his forehead with the butt of his hand. "Dumb, Dumb, DUMB! – ow…" He scowled, "Note to self, no beatings on self against head again… s'very bad… ouch."

Despite Royce and Audrey going out of their way to be friendly, Freakazoid knew that if they ever decided to turn on him again, he'd be decidedly annoyed. He hoped that they would not take advantage of his willingness to trust as many others had in the past. He was rather fond of little Aaron.

Freakazoid continued to walk, his mind once again setting sail on the vast and stormy sea of his thoughts. He felt utterly spent. Tired, no, exhausted, SO sick and god damn exhausted, not to mention pissed off … His emotional state of mind was nowhere near as stable as it ought to be and he had the alcohol to thank for that. Royce had only tried to help calm his nerves but it had the opposite effect, serving only to hamper his motor skills and amplify his sorrow. He counted the days, the hours, every second, and parts of a second that ticked by in Dexter's absence. It felt like an eternity, though in reality, merely a short period of time.

At that moment, it didn't matter what Roddy or anyone said. They didn't fully understand his unique situation and their attempt to soften the blow with science and/or theoretical rainbows, unicorns and sunshine was to no avail. How could Freakazoid maintain optimism when in reality he knew it to be a practice in futility? The truth of the matter was as plain and blatant as black and white. Losing Dexter was such a real and terrible thing to experience, that despite all the power he possessed, he couldn't save the one life that he treasured most.

What _would_ he do without Dexter? He'd be alone and miserable, because some smartass net-god thought it a brilliant idea to rip his soul apart. Still, the question remained. What could he do about it now that all was said and done? It wasn't like he could kick rocks at the net and call it names. His inability to defend himself against something intangible did nothing to improve the issue. He couldn't fight something virtual because he was as much a part of it as it was a part of him. If the net were to die, Freak would be rendered deaf, blind, and dumb—not to mention powerless. Oh—right. That already happened, hadn't it? He stopped walking and half fell in an attempt to sit before planting his butt firmly—levelly, in the sand.

Freakazoid wanted to believe that somewhere in his head, Dexter was there— that he'd merely lost his way and would eventually return to his subconscious haven. He wanted to believe it so much that it hurt or was that the inferno-pretending-to-be-heartburn in his chest talking? He didn't know, but it hurt. It fucking hurt all over because the inferno didn't seem content in occupying his ribcage anymore. It spread to his extremities like a rabid form of cancer. He'd swear up and down it felt like someone had converted his blood into acid and it was slowly eating him away from the inside out. The loss of control was eminent and it both frightened and enthralled him. Could he trust himself—that he could accept all of what had and was _still_ happening to him? Was it just the beginning of a greater end?

What would he do? Was there even a future for him? He didn't quite know—he'd never thought about living on the outside of Dexter, at least not permanently. He never wanted to think that far ahead but fate refused to give him the right to choose his own destiny.

Could he manage a solitary life in all the stillness and gloom that now occupied that lonely little space in his mind? Freak didn't like the quiet… He was used to all the noise and craziness… The deafening silence that Dexter left behind was a void too great to fill.

Freakazoid laid his face in his hands and cried like he'd never cried before. The force of his sobs made him heave and if his stomach had anything to give, he'd probably be blowing chunks all over the beach.

For those few, agonizing minutes, it was like the world had come to an end but then as quickly as the moment came, it ever-so-slightly eased. The tears dried, his stomach calmed and the fire inside him dimmed to a glowing ember.

Freakazoid lay back on the sand, not really caring that he got any in his clothes and stared at the stars—just stared with a glazed look in his eyes. The night sky possessed little significance; no longer did he possess that childlike wonder in how that great big black thing with all the little holes poked in it got up there. He saw it differently, jaded as he had become, just as it truly was. It was a vast emptiness, full of dust, rocks, gas and dead planets. The vacuum of space was full of dead things, much like he felt on the inside. It was cold and unfeeling, except for the fire simmering below his sternum.

He threw an arm over his face and heaved a great sigh. Christ, what a drama queen he'd become… Someone, somewhere, was probably laughing at him—thought it was some hilarious ironic joke to see that the once infallible Freakazoid had become an emotional, heart bleeding, wreck.

"Ha hah," he muttered. "That's very funny…"

After a while of listening to himself breathe and feeling the ocean breeze drying the tear tracks on his face, Freakazoid picked himself up and sullenly trudged the remaining distance to Dexter's—his—their beach house. Just as he arrived and was about to open the backyard gate, his pocket buzzed and he fished out his cell phone, staring at it warily.

"A voice message?" He glanced at the caller ID. "What could Duncan _possibly_ have to say to me?"

He dialed his voicemail, knowing he'd probably regret it, and put the phone on speaker.

In a voice sounding nasally due to an obviously busted nose, his brother shouted, "I HOPE YUR FUGGIN' HAPPY YOU TWAT!"

Freak's left eye gave an agitated twitch.

"DAD'S PISSED YOU LEFT AND MOM WON'T EVEN TALK! TH'FUG YOU SAY'TA HER, HUH?" continued Duncan, his tone venomous and unwavering.

There was a pulsing rush of sound as the damnable firestorm in Freakazoid's chest returned with a vengeance, burning so hotly in his core that he broke into a sweat. He hadn't done or said anything—nothing that would have intentionally hurt her. His mother was fine, wasn't she? Guilt reared its ugly head and Freak suddenly regretted not taking more time to explain himself when he knew his parents, particularly his father, tended to overreact.

"YUR A FUGGIN' DISGRACE, A GAWDDAMN FREAK OF NATURE! YOU KNOW WHAT PEOPLE DO WITH FREAKS LIKE YOU, HUH? THEY GET RID OF 'EM! SO DON'T THINK THIS IS O'BER! NOT BY A LONG SHOT! NO MATTER HOW LONG IT TAKES, I'M GUNNA HUNT YUR BLUE ASS DOWN 'AN WHEN I FIND YOU, I **WILL** KILL Y- **CH'KRK**!" Duncan's message abruptly cut off.

Blind fury skewed his vision as Freakazoid staggered through the gateway, hardly noticing the pieces of what used to be a cell phone scattering at his feet. ' _How dare he, how fucking DARE HE!_ ' He knew that the cruel things Duncan said should not be taken to heart, but in part, there lay a grain of truth.

Life might have been better if Dexter had never gone to his parents' place but whether he stayed in Seattle or went to D.C., he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. Case in point, the integration would still have occurred regardless of time or place. Freak would still be in the very same predicament, minus his encounter with Steff and the arguments with his brother leading up to the fiasco of nearly being strangled to death.

Needless to say, Freakazoid was furious—it beat within him like a churning tempest. Sparks flared and danced about him like fireflies, burning holes the size of pennies through his shirt.

Why could he never seem to catch a break? The shit just kept coming.

"FREAKAZOID!"

Speak of the devil.

Freak dropped to his hands and knees with a groan, barely able to discern the figure of Roddy through a dazzling blaze of energy.

Something was happening; his control over his resurging powers was slipping. He smiled an odd and unamusing smile, a darkness he hadn't thought he possessed welcoming the inevitable release. He toyed with the idea that if he let it all go he'd no longer be reminded of his failures to his family and friends and worst of all, his failure to Dexter. His eyes stung. He'd stolen Dexter's life.

' _I'm a murderer_ ,' Freak thought.

Roddy stood at the back door, staring open mouthed as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Two other human shapes appeared behind him, one of which Freak recognized as the Professor, while the other— some blue guy with huge ears.

Why were they standing there, gawking at him like that—hadn't they ever seen a guy have a nervous breakdown before? The grass beneath Freak's hands began to smolder, filling his nostrils with the sickly-bittersweet scent of burning. He retched, spitting arcs of electric currents instead of words. The sound of it in his ears was not dissimilar to eating pop rocks, only louder and his tongue felt tingly and numb. He shuddered, eyes bleeding white as the shimmering, superheated air, produced an ominous scent of ozone.

'Get out,' Freak wanted to say but the only thing he managed was an inhuman, guttural sound. If Roddy had any sense, he'd save himself and the others.

Without realizing the danger, Roddy went to help Freakazoid but before he had the chance to take a step, a thick vine snagged his sleeve.

"FOOL!" Drakken hissed. "Don't you smell it? That's electricity! He's going to blow and take us all with 'im if we don't get the hell out of here!"

"LET ME GO YE KNOBBY HEADED GOODIN'!" shouted Roddy.

Drakken shook his head, "NO! I Don't care if you both have the same powers or not, I won't let you take that chance!"

The Professor stepped back into the house, ushering his companions along, "Quickly! Ve must take cover!"

"TH'BOY NEEDS ME HELP T'BUFFER 'IM!" Argued Roddy.

"I vant to help him as much as you do," Roland said shakily, "But even you must know zat you are no match for him now."

Roddy reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled back into the safety of the house.

"Get behind me," said Drakken as his arms began to develop a thick armor that resembled tree bark. He brought them together and extended his hands outward to form a spiraling disk of vines. "I'll form a non conductive shield around us and it should keep us safe. We're no help to him if we're dead! Just pray that he survives!"

…

Freakazoid didn't know how long he could contain it, couldn't fathom the destruction he was capable of. He prayed his friends would forgive him for what he was about to do—that he was ashamed of what he had become…

With a keening howl of agony, blood bubbled from his nose and his eardrums burst as Freakazoid exploded like a star gone nova.

…

…

**To Be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted to call the chapter "Burning in the Skies" after the song in Linkin Park's new album "A Thousand Suns" but many ideas were soon tossed aside to be replaced. I settled on Linkin Park's "The Catalyst" because it relates well to the ambience of the story. 
> 
> A few other great songs that helped me write this chapter was Saliva's "Always", Three Doors Down "Here Without You" and Inception "Dream is Collapsing". More hilarious moments were inspired by Racid; Stubborn All-Stars "I Wanna Riot", Prodigy "Out of Space", Mindless Self Indulgence "1989", Leningrad "Malenkiy Malchik", Paul Cantelon "Odessa Medley", Eurythmics "Sweet Dreams", and last of all The Aquabats "Nerd Alert", "Meltdown!", and "Super Rad".
> 
> Oh, and those of you who may be wondering, little Aaron Mumphries was born on 05/11/1999
> 
> ::List of outside References::
> 
> I've provided yet another Dragonball Z reference (you know I can't resist). The best sort of analogy I could come up with in relation to Freakazoid's power issue is Goku because they share similar characteristics. This included their flaws regarding how dangerously weakened they become when deprived of energy. Seriously, if Goku has any one weakness aside from being too compassionate, is his stomach (that goes for all saiyans, including Vegeta). You starve a saiyan, he's pretty much useless.
> 
> If you want a more realistic reference on what is happening to Freak, look at modern day Olympic swimmers. Shit, look up Michael Phelps. Just to maintain his physique and all the energy he burns doing what he does, he has to eat double the normal daily intake of an adult male, otherwise his metabolism would force his body to start consuming itself for fuel. Yeah, now you know where I'm getting at when you reach that portion of the story where Goku is mentioned. ^_-
> 
> The Goonies reference is classic and if you haven't seen it, SHAME ON YOU! D8
> 
> ::Freakazoid Episode References::
> 
> "Hugbees" – Season 2 – Episode 6 "A Matter of Love"
> 
> "All is peace, all is calm-Brick" - Season 2 – Episode 9 "Two Against Freak" –
> 
> Freakazoid was fairly traumatized by an incident involving an attempt to levitate a brick using his developing telekinetic powers. HE had a bad habit of lobbing the brick into his own head to a point that the sight of a brick instilled irrational fear and was often such that he replaced random words or objects with the word "Brick".
> 
> ***There are A LOT of other references to this episode because it featured Royce (Cave Guy) and Audrey (Cobra Queen) as the main characters and their budding relationship. It was second to the last known encounter Freakazoid had with them before the end of the series.
> 
> ::Translations for Professor Heiney::
> 
> Guten Morgen – Good Morning
> 
> Mein Gott – My God
> 
> Danke schön – Thank you very much
> 
> Auf Wiederhören – Good-bye (formal, telephone only)


	9. Chapter 8: Who am I living for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my editor.
> 
> A special shout out goes to my Grandfather. To those of you who don't know how special the people are in your life until you've lost them, I remind you to cherish the family you have around you today. Tell them how important they are because you never know when God will come to take them home. …In loving memory of my grandfather, Mervin C. Jackson, who at 88 years of age passed away Jan 28, 2011, shortly before I'd originally completed this chapter. May his soul rest in peace.

**Disclaimers:**

Integration, Aaron Mumphries © Me

Kim Possible © Disney 

Freakazoid! © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks

Who am I living for © Katy Perry

Blackout © Linkin Park

 **Additional Credits:**

A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my editor.

A special shout out goes to my Grandfather. To those of you who don't know how special the people are in your life until you've lost them, I remind you to cherish the family you have around you today. Tell them how important they are because you never know when God will come to take them home. In loving memory of my grandfather, Mervin C. Jackson, who at 88 years of age passed away Jan 28, 2011. May his soul rest in peace.  

**Author's Random Blah Notes:**

I didn't want to make this chapter too long because I didn't want to bombard the readers with too much information right away since a lot is happening and there are a lot more characters incorporated. I want each person to have a part so that the story can be expressed from their combined perspectives.

I realize the previous chapter 7 was sort of long, a holiday special release, something that I don't make a habit of doing. The reason for that is because typically I have to split the document up on certain sites because a file can only be so large for the upload before the system craps out and flips me the bird. :P Ha hah, I made Deviantart have a brain fart. I am just that awesome.

Anyway, I warn you that some of the details regarding Freakazoid's injuries might be graphic. I tried to meter it because I know many people can be a bit squeamish so I took that into account and tried to explain what had happened without going into TOO much detail. I hope it makes sense and that I explained it well enough. My editor certainly seems to think so... Burns among other things can get nasty, trust me; I've seen and read it all. 

**Now for a bit of explanations:**

Coronal Explosion  This occurs when more energy is pouring into space than the actual space can contain and it collapses on itself. Freakazoid = power source  output curve is increasing instead of decreasing  energy outside has been discharged from the energy source and takes time for that energy to disperse. At the moment the explosion, Freakazoid became a three-dimensional energy exit point. (three dimensions/360 degrees). Any source of energy has to be localized, no generalized energy field (only generalized is magnetic).  A Coronal Explosion is not as destructive as a bomb because it has no focal point. The concussive force would flatten most houses around it. The heat and light is searing hot, not quite plasma, but close.

EMP or Electromagnetic Pulse  "is a burst of electromagnetic radiation that results from an explosion (usually from the detonation of a nuclear weapon) and/or a suddenly fluctuating magnetic field. The resulting rapidly changing electric fields or magnetic fields may couple with electrical/electronic systems to produce damaging current and voltage surges." - (Wikipedia)

**::List of outside References::**

Dexter's comment: "Same thing we do every night Pinky try to take over the world."  Pinky & The Brain

**::Freakazoid Episode References::**

"Two Against Freak" Season 2  At the very end of the episode, Roddy tells Freakazoid that his powers are influenced by his emotions. He's mostly referring to Freak's telekinetic powers only working when he's really angry, but the point of the matter is that his emotions have a significant effect on his abilities. It's an important thing to mention for the plot. (I study/read into everything, even all the little subtleties that most people don't pay attention to).

**::Music Refs::**

Katy Perry "Who am I living for?"  really sets the mood, for which I've credited the title of the chapter to. If you check out the song/lyrics on youtube - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIRf-nFKfsU you'll understand how the song relates to Freakazoid's situation.

Linkin Park "Blackout"  Track 1 of "A Thousand Suns"  (Not to be confused with track 9, also titled "Blackout") -  I also attribute the chapter's mood and I almost named the chapter "Blackout". Still, I owe credit where credit is due.

**::Translations for Professor Heiney::**

"Ach, du liebe Zeit!"  An old fashioned German exclamation of "Good heavens!"

"Gut Gott!" - Good God!  
  
Hopefully I haven't left you with too much of a cliffhanger. Happy reading!

**Integration**

Chapter 8

"Who am I living for?"

In the aftermath of Freakazoid's power surge, Roddy and the Professor sat huddled, frozen with shock behind Drakken's wall of thick plant growth. Several tense moments passed as the Scotsman's glowing eyes dimmed to an unnatural vibrant blue and he slowly lowered an upraised arm to rest at his side. Despite the good Doctor's willingness to protect them, his plants were purely organic, which meant they did little more than provide insulation against the initial volley of electricity and debris.  The destruction that followed was a concussive force capable of flattening most houses and producing an incinerating near-plasma intensity of heat and light. Naturally, no plant life would have survived such an occurrence and Drakken's act of heroism would have been moot had the Scotsman not stepped in.

Admittedly, Roddy was no match to prevent a full coronal explosion at ground zero but the split second decision to test his powers proved that, from a distance, his proficiency at creating a kind of force field to protect himself and the others had succeeded. He rose unsteadily, pulling the Professor up to stand with him. Regardless of his temerity, Roddy's abilities were limited and could only shield half of the house, which looked to have been struck by a bomb, which wasn't far from the truth. ' _Bloody hell_ ,' he thought. ' _Had I not taken th'risk, there might not've been anythin' left of us..._ '

"Gut Gott," breathed Roland, staring in awe at the devastation in their midst, "I had no idea of ze magnitude" He trailed off, reminded of a time when such a scene had been common place- a city ravaged by war. 

Drakken flexed a clawed bark-armored hand, allowing the surrounding vegetation to wither what he could not readily reabsorb. "I think we all underestimated him," he said then looked at the Professor. "Are you alright?"

Roland squared his jaw determinedly, "Ya, -just reminded of darker times."  
    
Drakken nodded his understanding, turning full circle to look around them, noticing that past the clean division of where the walls of Roddy's shield once held, little remained of the living room where they'd taken shelter. The better part of the roof sagged dangerously overhead, molten insulation and roofing shingles lay in heaps, dripping from splintered beams like black napalm. He wrinkled his nose, the unpleasant stink of tar and smoke stinging his nostrils. "Thank you," he said finally, his expression softening as he realized he owed his life to Roddy's quick thinking.

"Yer welcome, jus' doin' what I can t'save our arses," said Roddy. "Cannae say th'same for the house though" He slipped past the two men, scrambling over remnants of furniture toward the edge of the charred floor boards leading into the star studded night. Half way there, he abruptly froze when the surviving half of the house gave a sudden, violent shudder. " **CRUD**!" He hollered, startling his companions. With the absence of support that his force field provided, the structural integrity of the building had been compromised, which meant they only had a short window of escape before "WE HAVE T'GET OUT **NOW**!"

The creak and groan of an imminent collapse was the only warning given and without delay the three men fled to the safety of the street in time to witness the entire house cave in on itself. 

"SHIT!" Drakken swore as he set the Professor down whom he had hastily thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "That was close!"

"Zere's nos'zing left," Roland croaked, adjusting his glasses in disbelief. What a day it'd turned out to benot at all what he expected. "Freakazoid"

"He's alive," said a grim-faced Roddy. "I know tha' much. I can sense 'im, faintly, but 'e needs our help. We 'ave to get aroun' t' th'back E's still there, fadin' fast" He trailed off, not trusting himself to speak lest he lose his resolve. The lad's life hung in the balance, depending on him to save it and he'd be damned before he allowed anyone or anything to stop him. 

As if finally realizing the absence of street lamps or **any** light for that matter, Drakken sighed, "It's going to be difficult searching in the dark. He created an EMP burst, taking out the entire grid. Anything that isn't shielded as far as a mile from the epicenter won't function."

"Lucky for us, my car **iz** shielded," said Roland. "I haf battery powered flashlights so ve're not completely vitout advance."

Drakken nodded, remembering. He rushed to the maroon Subaru Outback they'd arrived in earlier, which was relatively unscathed save for the shattered windows and a dinged up hood. He opened the hatch back and lifted the floor board to access the spare compartment where he found two long handled heavy-duty maglites.  He flicked each of their buttons to be sure they did in fact work before tossing one to Roddy and keeping the other for himself and the Professor. "We should hurry, no doubt there are broken gas lines to worry abou" He broke off, raising an arm to shield his eyes against a bright flash of headlights as a dark Ford Explorer screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway. The driver killed the engine and emerged lithely from the vehicle's chassis, rushing toward him with a look of fear written on her face.

Recognizing the woman, Drakken exclaimed, "A-Audrey?! What're you doing here?!"

"Dee!" cried Audrey. "Royce and I saw the explosion Assuming the worst, I came to see- I could be asking you the same question! What are **you** doing here and how do you know Freakazoid?"

Drakken grasped her shoulders and drew her into a quick familial embrace. "Actually, I don't know him," he admitted, loosening his hold so that she could step back to look up into his eyes. "I've only heard of him but I'm here as support for"

"He's 'ere t'support the Professor and I!" Roddy interrupted, his hand igniting with a crackle of energy. "Wot business d'ye have with us Cobra Queen?!" He curled his hand into a fist and held it out as if to ready an attack if she so much as even crossed her eyes at him. He'd had enough to deal with lately and didn't need one of his archenemies making his life worse than it already was. 

"Now just hold on a minute there," protested Drakken.  "She's not"

"I'm not your enemy anymore, Roddy," was Audrey's terse reply. "I'm here out of concern for Freakazoid. We're friends now."

" **That** I find hard t'believe," came the Scotman's angry retort. "I hardly trust any'thin' that comes outta that venomous mouth 'o yers!"

Drakken took a step between them, "I don't care what history you have with her. I can't allow you to harm her. She's different now as we all are!" 

Loathe to stand by while his friends squabbled amongst themselves, Roland chose to intervene with a firm hand on Roddy's shoulder. "She speaks ze truth! Audrey iz ze wife of Royce, Drakken's cousin. Zey live nearby und ve are all very close friends, like family, so if you must believe anyone, believe ME! You haff no-sing to fear!"

Roddy reluctantly extinguished his glowing fist. "Small world" Swallowing his pride, the Scotsman acknowledged his former enemy with a contemptuous glare. "No offence, ma'am but ye must understand I cannae take chances. Particularly now with m'boy's life at stake"

"None taken," said Audrey. 

Drakken let out the breath he had been holding and looked between Audrey and Roddy. "History or not this is neither the time nor place to settle old grudges. Let the past stay in the past because we have more important things to be concerned about right now."

Roland fished his cane out of his car and started toward the rubble of the house, just as impatient as the others to get to the waning young Freakazoid. "Ve are vasting time!"

Drakken left the others to pursue the Professor, staying close at his heels with the flashlight to ensure the man didn't trip.

Audrey and Roddy followed after them, a tense silence lingering between them since neither of them really knew what to say they hadn't spoken in nearly a decade. As they approached the backyard over the splintered remains of fencing material, Audrey's superior night vision enabled her to observe him closely and her slight hand sought his arm to gently guide him away from exposed rusty nails. 

The silence stretched on between them and perhaps it was for the better, since there was too much at stake to carry on in simple conversation. He did notice that her hand hadn't left his arm, the grip tightening as they neared the edge of a wide, shallow crater. The ground still steamed from the heat, pungent in the salt heavy air drifting inland from the ocean. Sighing, Roddy touched her trembling hand, loosely curling his fingers in an attempt to calm her. Enemy or not, she obviously cared. He looked at her, seeing the tears shining in her eyes- it tore at his heart. "I'm afraid for him too," he said quietly, unable to disguise the quaver of his voice. "We never expected this t'appenhadn't prepared for it."

He swallowed the rising ache in his throat and stepped away from her to stand beside Dr. D and Roland who were staring uneasily into the unforgiving darkness.

"It's too hot to get closer," said Drakken. "I can probably manage it but any one of you risks losing the soles of your shoes." 

Roddy shook his head, "I'll take m'chances. We're in this together and I refuse t'stand idly by."

"Understood."

The Professor crouched down to inspect the rapidly cooling earth, shining the beam of his flashlight toward the ground to have a better look. "The sand deposits have turned to glass," he said, his voice a mixture of wonder and fear. "I hate to say zis, but he could be badly burned if he didn't protect himself."

"Oh God!"

Three heads swiveled in alarm to face her at the sound of Audrey's choked sob as she pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry. She pointed to an area just beyond them where the haze had dissipated to reveal their fallen comrade. 

The Scotsman lungedhadn't realized he'd moved until he felt his legs carrying him to the prostrate and unmoving form of Freakazoid. Fear and adrenaline blinded him to the dangers of the molten sand as he stumbled half-crazed over the scorched earth and down onto his knees. Whatever pain he should have felt was deliberately ignored as he scooped the lad's lifeless form into his arms, rose back to his feet and practically flew back the way he had come to the lay him on the driveway.

Tears blurred his vision as he tore his eyes away from Freakazoid's burn-ravaged face, which lacked its defining features and characteristic hairstyle. He could not recognize anything of who the lad was even if he tried. The heat destroyed everything- had even vaporized his clothes. "Crud" he muttered, his voice cracking. All of it- everything was gone, replaced by gruesome second and third degree burns that encompassed the majority of his body. If he didn't know any better, the lad had tried to focus the energy more on himself rather than allowing it to disperse, thus preventing greater damage to his surroundings.

"You sorry sod," he choked. "Ye tried to t'save us from yerself Now look atcha" 

The pound of approaching footfalls reached his ears as Roddy stooped to check for a heartbeat, afraid to touch the lad when he realized he may have caused further damage by moving him. God only knows what sort of force Freakazoid imposed on himself- probably had more broken bones than one could imagine. He listened, momentarily deafened by his own racing heart but with a few steady breaths, calmed enough to pay closer attention to the task at hand.





Freakazoid came to, staring at the coagulated contents of a cereal bowl full of oatmeal He made a face, prodding a pliant lump with his spoon. Something blurred past the corner of his field of vision and struck the wall behind him with a sickening wet splat. He lifted his gaze from his bowl to stare at the grinning man sitting across from him. 

Dexter arched a brow at the blank faced Freakazoid. "Zoning out again, huh? You've been doing that a lot lately. What's up?" He scooped another spoonful of oatmeal from his own bowl and readied the laden utensil to catapult the gelatinous glob of oats at Freakazoid's head.

Freak jerked in surprise as the cold mass of goop struck his forehead, too frozen with shock to dodge the errant projectile. His jaw dropped, "Buh?" He wiped at his forehead with a napkin, grimacing at the lumpy congealed matter sticking to his skin. "Ewww Why'd you do that?"

"Penny for your thoughts" muttered Dex.

"Huh?"

Dexter set down the spoon and regarded his other half flatly. "Pay attention, dork."

"OH!" Freakazoid snapped to attention as it fully dawned on him that he was sitting with the one and only Dexter Douglas. "Dexter! Wh-What are you doin' here?"

"Same thing we do every night Pinky try to take over the world."

"What?"

Dexter chuckled, "I'm joking. So really- here we are back, in la la land together. Seems there's a reason you're here, kind of like the other night. It's finally happened, huh?"

Freakazoid stood quickly and Dexter rose with him, maintaining eye contact. "I must be dreaming like the last time. I don't remember any of this." He indicated to the table with a sweep of his arm. "This isn't real. Last thing I remember was" Freak quieted, struggling to recall his last waking moment. ' _I was walking on the beach_ '

"-and the phone rang," said Dexter, finishing Freakazoid's thoughts aloud. "Rather, you got hate mail from"

"Duncan," Freak seethed, his expression darkening. "That _weenie_..."

"Weenie is not the word that first comes to mind, but if you insist"

"Yeah well, I could think of a lot of nasty things to say," said Freak. "He's a douche bag."

Dexter walked toward a window at the opposite end of the table and peered through the blinds with a sharp metallic crinkle. "Our brother has a crowbar shoved up his ass and a grudge against the world a mile wide Old news, really, but still I agree that douche-baggery is the name of his game..." 

Freak seemed to deflate a little, slouching as his anger passed and was replaced by guilt. "I'm afraid my mucking with his head so much didn't help the situation, but, seriously, somebody needs to admit that guy into an anger management class, 'cause yikes!" He peeked over Dexter's shoulder to figure out what he found so interesting outside and was disappointed to find nothing out of the ordinary. "To make matters worse," he continued. "I kind of overreacted at the breakfast table the other day. I mean- I _totally_ blew up without warning."

"Steff is still a raw subject. No harm done, all is forgiven, water under the bridge. Kapeesh?"

"I understand but I guess I miss the old days of all the random randomness, ya know? I enjoyed being the epic loose cannon and not having to worry about the trivialities of life. Things used to be fun and then it's like you wake up one day and ask yourself"

"What happened?"

Freak nodded. "Trying to suppress myself all those years has taken its toll but at the same time it was worth the sacrifice because it allowed you some semblance of a normal life."

Dexter released the blinds with a snap, placing his hands on his hips and staring irritably at his other self. "We can't dwell on the past you know? Wishing for the old days will only get you stuck in a rut and you'll never make any progress to your future. Everyone has to grow up some timepeople like Duncan haven't learned that yet. He's still as petulant and immature as ever." He shrugged, lips curling into a smile, "that rule applies to us too and you shouldn't feel guilty about what happened- my wanting a normal life and you not getting out much is what got us in this mess. If you bottle up your feelings, it'll eventually explode outward if you don't let it out occasionally I'm sure the folks understand that- at least in part- so forgive and forget. In regards to the incident with Steff- as painful as it was, I'm glad she showed up when she did. Not to sound all philosophical and crap but I think that was more than mere coincidence. That was fate."

By the look in Freakazoid's eyes he understood, but whether he chose to believe it or not was something else entirely. However, Dexter gave him the benefit of the doubt and felt that Freak had shared his opinion and simply had nothing more to say on the matter. Too much had happened recently; it was natural he'd be a little preoccupied. 

Dexter shrugged nonchalantly, "I mean, I'm a scientist by nature but there are mystical and supernatural things in this world that can't be explained. I dunno about you, but it took a load off **my** mind that she'd realized her mistake and actually meant it when she said she was sorry." He gave a start as Freak walked around the table and grabbed Dexter into a tight embrace, shaking with the force of his emotion. "Why'd you leave me?" he asked in a small voice.

Without hesitation, Dexter reciprocated the fierce hug, giving Freak an affectionate squeeze. "I never left," he softly replied.

"Yeah ya did!" accused Freak, his voice cracking. "You left and I couldn't reach you! I thought you died!" He mock-punched Dexter in the arm, flushed with rising fury. "Don't ever do that again! You scared the shit outta m" A finger pressed his lips closed and Dexter continued to smile, all serene and warmth like a tub of good things that Freakazoid couldn't resist giving in to.

The strange glow of power in Freak's eyes faded as his anger fizzled out and he sagged against Dexter, heaving a great sigh. "I really blew it, didn't I?"

Dexter patted his back, "Define, 'blew it' because if you mean it in terms of 'I fucked up,' I'll have to disagree, but if you mean it in a literal sense, then yes, you **really** blew it as in 'you **BLEW** the fuck up'. And to preemptively answer your question as to why, the reason behind it is that your powers are influenced by your emotions, and I distinctly recall Roddy reminding you of this factor. Without proper training you're bound to lose control, especially since you've recently gotten so much stronger. I told you this was coming and, true to your nature, you _overreacted_. You should've known Duncan would say the meanest things he could because he knows it hurts, just like at breakfast broke our collective heart."

Freak arched a brow, "Mind if you practice what you preach, brother?" 

"This is about us," said Dexter. "Not just 'you' or 'me' as individuals. It's US we have to worry about, s'why I'm here talking to you in the first place or rather, how you came to be here."

Freak nodded, shifting his feet and backing away a step. "So What happened?"

"Isn't it obvious? We merged and then you blew up." With a laugh Dexter gave Freak a playful shove. "Stupid."

"Nah!" Freak grinned and shoved him back, "YOU'RE STUPID- STOOPID! Sides I pretty much assumed that we'd merged but the whole going 'boom' thing is a bit of a blur. I wanted to hear it from **you**." 

Dexter chuckled, swiveling to loop an arm around Freak's shoulders and pulling him close to bump heads. "Roddy's precognitive abilities struck home. For the most part his predictions have a habit of coming true. He was hesitant to assume things when you guys met up on the net, wanted to remind us that regardless of what he knows, it's not set in stone until it happens. We do have **some** choice about our fate better as one than two."

"So are we stuck like this?" Freak wondered. "This isn't exactly how I wanted it to be for us didn't want to think about it, really."

"Never fear," chided Dexter. "I'm always here." He placed a hand over Freakazoid's heart, his fingers splayed to encompass the steady rhythm beneath his palm. "It's a very special place and right now it's hurting" With a strength that took Freakazoid by surprise, Dexter pushed him till his back struck the wall.

"Whu?"

Dexter leaned close, their noses touching, "You need to concentrate and listen hard to what I'm about to tell you." He took one of Freakazoid's hands and placed it over his own heart, "You remember that burning feeling you had? You called it the inferno."

Freak nodded shakily.

"Yeah, you notice it's gone, right?"

Now that Dex mentioned, Freakazoid hadn't noticed until now that the burning pain was gone only to be replaced by something else. There was a sensation of tightness in his chest and now that it had his attention, it intensifiedliterally stole his breath away. 

Dexter's bangs tickled Freakazoid's brow, drawing his attention away from the pain. "Look into my eyes and focus on my heartbeat because if you don't, you're going to die."

"WHAT?!" Freak exclaimed, wheezing as he suddenly grew short of breath. His body slackened and if not for Dexter's crushing hold, he didn't think his legs could support him. Why did he feel so tired all the sudden? 

Dexter pressed his hand harder over the other man's chest.

Freak winced, grasping his wrist. "Ngh! H-hey that hurts S-Stop..." His eyes widened and he stared open mouthed into the deadly calm expression of his other self, luminous sparks dancing in his eyes like fireflies. Time slowed to a crawl as his weakening muscles refused to obey his mental commands. Things like breathing became difficult, even autonomic functions fought to maintain a steady equilibrium. Something was wrong, something terrible was happening and he couldn't explain it. The net wasn't available to answer his questions and his brain was quickly turning to mush so he was pretty much screwed. Nothing wanted to work had gone blind, deaf, and dumb all over again.

"You're in cardiac arrest," said Dexter, his voice sounding muffled as though Freakazoid's ears were stuffed full of wet cotton. 

If Freakazoid heard him, he didn't respond. He could only blink and stare back into the vibrant blue of Dexter's eyes.  It occurred to him that he'd never noticed before. 'Were Dexter's eyes always so blue?' How strange that he'd never paid attention to that before. Weren't they hazel or brown orsomething?  

Freakazoid stiffened because just then it felt like his entire body had been stricken by a searing electric shock.



"Again!" instructed Roland. He leaned away far enough to safely avoid the electric current flowing from Roddy's hands into Freakazoid's chest and watched as the boy twitched with the force of the shock.

The Scotsman, acting as a defibrillator, raised his shaking hands from the lad's torso and the Professor resumed administering CPR. He stared at the blood and bits of damaged skin clinging to his hands, sickened at the thought that this could be itthat all their combined efforts to save the lad's life were for nothing. Silent tears ran rivers down his face and disappeared into his beard. He bowed his head, taking deep breaths and straining to resist his stomach's urge to purge itself, worried that he'd lose the boy he'd come to think of as a son. How could he live with himself if that happened?

"Ach, du liebe Zeit!"

For a long moment Roddy did not react, too zoned out from the day's stress to hear Professor's shout of surprise. He continued to stare at his hands, still lost in his woeful ruminations when Drakken noticed and shook his shoulder to rouse him. 

"FOOKING HELL!" Roddy blurted as he lifted his head to look at the Doctor.

"He's alive!" cried a joyful Audrey, surprising the Scotsman when she threw her arms around his neck and crushed him into a hug. "YOU DID IT RODDY!!"

"HE HAS A HEARTBEAT!" cried Roland as he leaned in to reassure himself that the boy was in fact breathing. He nodded, tears rolling down his own face, "Und breathing! But I'm afraid by ze sounds of it he has a punctured lung und in addi-schun to his severe burns und internal injuries, I suspect many of his bones are broken!" Without the aid of his cane, Roland shot to his feet with a quickness and ease that should have been difficult for a man in his seventies. "Ve must get him to ze hospital!"

As if on cue, the wail of sirens could be heard approaching from the distance, summoned by the many spectators who'd ventured from their homes to investigate and gather in the streets, awaiting help. 

"It vas necessary to move him from ze crater but I don't advise aggravating his injuries furzer. Ve should vait for ze EMS- Zey vill haff a back board und stretcher for ze boy to be properly stabilized."

As much as Roddy wanted to whisk the lad away to the hospital right then and there the Professor had a point. They'd done what they could. He had to trust that the professionals knew what they were doing. After all, they had the equipment needed to treat this sort of thing. 

Drakken crouched on the opposite side of Freakazoid to assess the lad's condition for himself. The look he gave Roddy just then said it all. Even for trained individuals who were used to seeing this kind of thing it took all the strength he could muster to keep a straight face. 

Roddy was no doctor but he had enough common sense to understand when it was bad. He nodded sadly and ever so carefully placed a hand on the marred, hairless head and prayed that Freakazoid would live to see the sun rise.

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Random Blah Notes:
> 
> I didn't want to make this chapter too long because I didn't want to bombard the readers with too much information right away since a lot is happening and there are a lot more characters incorporated. I want each person to have a part so that the story can be expressed from their combined perspectives.
> 
> I realize the previous chapter 7 was sort of long, a holiday special release, something that I don't make a habit of doing. The reason for that is because typically I have to split the document up on certain sites because a file can only be so large for the upload before the system craps out and flips me the bird. :P Ha hah, I made Deviantart have a brain fart. I am just that awesome.
> 
> Anyway, I warn you that some of the details regarding Freakazoid's injuries might be graphic. I tried to meter it because I know many people can be a bit squeamish so I took that into account and tried to explain what had happened without going into TOO much detail. I hope it makes sense and that I explained it well enough. My editor certainly seems to think so... Burns among other things can get nasty, trust me; I've seen and read it all.
> 
> Now for a bit of explanations:
> 
> Coronal Explosion – This occurs when more energy is pouring into space than the actual space can contain and it collapses on itself. Freakazoid = power source – output curve is increasing instead of decreasing – energy outside has been discharged from the energy source and takes time for that energy to disperse. At the moment the explosion, Freakazoid became a three-dimensional energy exit point. (three dimensions/360 degrees). Any source of energy has to be localized, no generalized energy field (only generalized is magnetic). A Coronal Explosion is not as destructive as a bomb because it has no focal point. The concussive force would flatten most houses around it. The heat and light is searing hot, not quite plasma, but close.
> 
> EMP or Electromagnetic Pulse – "is a burst of electromagnetic radiation that results from an explosion (usually from the detonation of a nuclear weapon) and/or a suddenly fluctuating magnetic field. The resulting rapidly changing electric fields or magnetic fields may couple with electrical/electronic systems to produce damaging current and voltage surges." - (Wikipedia)
> 
> ::List of outside References::
> 
> Dexter's comment: "Same thing we do every night Pinky— try to take over the world." – Pinky & The Brain
> 
> ::Freakazoid Episode References::
> 
> "Two Against Freak" Season 2 – At the very end of the episode, Roddy tells Freakazoid that his powers are influenced by his emotions. He's mostly referring to Freak's telekinetic powers only working when he's really angry, but the point of the matter is that his emotions have a significant effect on his abilities. It's an important thing to mention for the plot. (I study/read into everything, even all the little subtleties that most people don't pay attention to).
> 
> ::Music Refs::
> 
> Katy Perry "Who am I living for?" – really sets the mood, for which I've credited the title of the chapter to. If you check out the song/lyrics on youtube (copy/paste link without all the spaces) - http : / / www . youtube . com / watch?v=uIRf-nFKfsU you'll understand how the song relates to Freakazoid's situation.
> 
> Linkin Park "Blackout" – Track 1 of "A Thousand Suns" (Not to be confused with track 9, also titled "Blackout") - I also attribute the chapter's mood and I almost named the chapter "Blackout". Still, I owe credit where credit is due.
> 
> ::Translations for Professor Heiney::
> 
> "Ach, du liebe Zeit!" – An old fashioned German exclamation of "Good heavens!"
> 
> "Gut Gott!" - Good God!
> 
> \---
> 
> Who am I living for © Katy Perry
> 
> Blackout © Linkin Park


	10. Chapter 9: Locking up the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my super spiffy Editor of AWESOMENESS!

**Update: 11/3/13** – added more description regarding Professor Heiney's experiences as described by Roddy MacStew while in transit on the EMS vehicle.

**Disclaimers:**

Integration, Aaron Mumphries © Me

Kim Possible © Disney 

Freakazoid! © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks

Locking up the Sun © Poets of the Fall

 **Additional Credits:**

A Special thanks to tie-dyed-trickster, my super spiffy Editor of AWESOMENESS!

**Author's Random Blah Notes:**

The inspiration for this chapter stemmed from my sudden discovery of a band from Finland by the name of Poets of the Fall. I fell in love with their music and my boyfriend suggested that I use their song "Locking Up the Sun" for this chapter. Not only does the song really set the mood, but the lyrics really home in on the objective of the chapter, focusing on the fact that in Freakazoid's absence, that among his closest friends, several ex-villains have stepped up to volunteer their aid. Ironic, don't you think? They, (Cave Guy, Cobra Queen, Drakken, etc) realize the good in what Freak has done for them in spite of their past misdeeds. Now, Freak needs help and they have a 'second chance' to ally themselves with the ailing young hero and return the favor!

The hospital scene was partially inspired by Superman's near death experience in the film, Superman Returns. I was really moved by the public response to the ailing hero and considering how well-known Freakazoid is (and the fact that he has interacted with famous people throughout the world), really supports the turn out of the crowd.

Also, I'd like to discuss a comment made by NeoSaiyanAngel: "I'm surprised Betty is being as intrusive with Drakken as she's been in the latest chapter and implied thusly. I'd've thought she'd leave that to Kim or local police." 

The reason I chose to have Betty step in is because Drakken is kind of like Vash the Stampede, in the sense that he can be a bit of a human typhoon, leaving disaster in his wake, whether it be intentional or not. Therefore, you need powerful and influential people like Betty Director or Kim Possible to step in (After all, they know how to handle Drakken's unique personality).

I thought about having Kim and Ron step in and play a role in Chapter 9, but I'm waiting a bit longer for that. Hell, I may even have pretty decent and valid excuse for Kim's absence. (just give me some time to think). What really inspired me to go ahead and use good 'ol Dr. Betty Director is because of my fondness for such scenes as Marvel's Nick Fury discussion with Ironman/Tony Stark (see the doughnut scene in live action film, Ironman II). Betty's relationship with Drakken is on par with Fury's interactions in Ironman, therefore, I couldn't resist writing my own little version of that scene. (It's important that Dr. Betty Director of Global Justice was intentionally modeled after Nick Fury, leader of Shield).

Also, it's important to note that my intention of Betty being there is part of her knowing Freakazoid (this idea is fictional, not canon), of which the young hero's status in Global Justice is worth noting. Considering that Freakazoid has interacted with a good number of important figures throughout the world (Princess Di, Barbara Streisand Leonard Maltin, Henry Kissinger, Leonard Nemoy, particularly the president of the united states Bill Clinton and the first lady, Hillary) . Naturally, Freak's made a name for himself with the government/political world. So, this legitimizes how Betty would somehow fall into knowing Freak, considering one of the objective of Global Justice is to spy/monitor the goings-on of superpower beings (both good and evil) and make sure they're behaving themselves...

I imagine someone in the higher-ups may have even decided to pull a few strings after hearing about Freakazoid's accident and hailed Betty's direct service. It pays to know people, particularly if they owe you a debt for saving their lives.

...

...

...and without further ado, I shall commence with the story!

Feedback is both welcome and appreciated!

Integration

**Chapter 9**

"Locking Up the Sun"

September 3, 2004

The dawn of Friday morning brought forth a slew of reports regarding an unfortunate accident involving renowned superhero, Freakazoid, and his close friend, APEX Corporate VP, Dexter Douglas. Informants stated that the "explosion" was caused by a faulty gas line, which had ignited and left Dexter's vacation home in shambles. The incident left Freakazoid critically wounded and Dexter inexplicably 'missing in action', leading many to assume foul play, while others considered the possibility that Dexter had simply perished. Considering the intensity of the explosion, forensics seemed to support the latter theory, and the fact that Dexter's neighbors never saw him leave the premises, vouched for that. However, regardless of the evidence or lack thereof, anything marginally salvageable was meticulously documented.

The public eye quickly turned to the one person who **could** explain what happened- Freakazoid himself. Alas, given his condition, there was no way of knowing when or if he'd ever regain consciousness.

Furthermore, the majority of the public were unaware of Freakazoid's connection to Dexter Douglas, making the superhero's inexplicable reappearance seem highly suspicious. Only a choice few individuals knew the truth to the matter, but they weren't talking yet. Nevertheless, suspicious or not, the people whose lives Freakazoid had touched, shared their heartfelt sympathy for both young men. As a spectacular show of support, people from all walks of life poured into the streets surrounding the hospital, anxiously waiting and praying for good news. The crowds grew so chaotic that local law enforcement was called in to direct the anxious throng to allow EMS vehicles to come and go unimpeded. After all, despite Freakazoid's unwavering popularly, life went on and medical aid was still very much in demand throughout the county. Unfortunately, the doctors working on him stated that it was unlikely the young hero would survive the night, which made it a long and difficult wait for all to endure. 

\--  


In a darkened and sparsely furnished room, Roddy MacStew sat hunched in a chair where he'd held vigil through the night, staring numbly at the wall opposite of the hospital bed. If not for the repetitive woosh and chirp of life preserving machinery, he'd swear the lad, covered in bandages and immobilized upon the bed in a web of traction cables, was already two steps through the door to the afterlife.

No. Roddy laid his face in his hands, struggling against a fresh wave of doubt and trepidation. He warily eyed the still and broken form. ' _Bollocks_ ' He shook his head with a grunt of frustration, ' _I will NOT think that way._ '  Freakazoid was not beyond saving not yet. There was still hope, even if the doctors didn't think so. A grim smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the Scotsman imagined the lad leaping off the bed whole and unharmed as he'd done in the past,  shouting how nifty-keen it was to be alive and how desperately he wanted a snow cone.

' _Tch_ ,' he thought snidely, ' _What d'those doctors know anyway? Ruddy goodins know **nothin'** about th'lad's powers, especially compared t'me_ '

His shoulders sagged as the anger left as swiftly as it had arrived, his mind taking him back to the night before. ' _No, that's not fair how **could** they know?_ ' 

In spite of his ability to sense the future, Roddy had been wholly unprepared for what happened the previous night. When he and Professor Heiney climbed into the back of the EMS truck it became clear that Freakazoid's condition was far worse than either of them could have imagined, and, as the night progressed and the initial shock wore off, he gradually realized the severity of the situation. The Scotman's stoic façade began to crack, worsening as they neared the hospital, 'til there was nothing left to hold back the rising tide of grief and guilt. He hadn't realized that Freakazoid had such a grip on his heart until the moment the lad disappeared through the operating room doors. 

Roddy barely remembered his legs giving out or the sensation of several hands on his shoulders and someone's arms reaching to embrace him he wasn't sure whose, everything was such a blur and truthfully he couldn't have cared less who it was or how long they'd sat there in the middle of the floor with him bawling like a grade-schooler. Christ almighty, Roddy had never cried so hard in his lifenot since his grandmother died. Even losing his own Mum couldn't compare to the raw agony of the thought of losing someone as precious as Freakazoid, who was more a son to him than anything. No. The lad hadn't died just yet, though he was damn well near it, which did nothing to lessen the difficult truth of the matter, but for the moment he was still alive. For the moment, there was still hope.

With a heavy sigh, Roddy propped his elbows on his knees and whispered to himself, "I could not have foreseen this." His fingers formed a steeple and he looked dismally through the space between his palms at the window as the first tawny shades of dawn shone through a gap in the heavy curtains.  "How?" he wondered in a slightly louder voice. "How'd ye survive this?" He swallowed the bitter ache forming in his throat, quelling the urge to succumb to his tears once more. "Perhaps th'years of suppressin' m'feelings, pride be dammed, have taken their toll at last. Cannae tell if it's a fookin' miracle or a curse..." He lowered his hands and tightly gripped the padded arm rests, reminding himself that when it came to a person like Freakazoid, all doubts would eventually be quelled and all the hullabaloo would blow over and as the saying goes, 'all's well that ends well'. 

"I could'nae live knowin' there was somethin' I coulda done..."

Once again, that moment replayed itself in his mind, the moment when he realized that almost nothing remained of the lad he knew and loved. A part of him yearned to turn away from that memory, screamed that this was not how Freakazoid should be remembered; he wouldn't have wanted that. Alas, Roddy's curiosity compelled him to observe the unwanted memory with stark, remorseless clarity  
_  
The grotesqueness of Freakazoid's injuries left him irrevocably altered. From the blackened tip of what once resembled a nose to a gaping toothless mouth, down the swath of a taut, cracked torso; the heat had melted the trace polyester in his clothes and adhered to seeping fissured skin._

_A shudder of revulsion wracked his frame. 'Sweet Mary' Was there no end to the horror? Still, his gaze was inexorably drawn to observe the macabre display. His shoes, what remained of them stinking mittswhere were his toes? of molten rubber, plastic residue and f_

_Roddy forced himself to look away just then, struggling to subduehis stomach roiled, the only warning given before he heaved the vestiges of his lunch into a bag provided by one of the astute young paramedics._

_Though Roddy had endured a fair share of loss in his lifetime, the night's tragedy struck deep into his soul and it was no secret that its effect was the same for Roland. When he had finished emptying his stomach, Roddy bowed his head in shame of his lack of control. Even though he refused to make eye contact, he felt the weight of Roland's concerned gaze and wished he had half as much strength as the Professor. The old man was a bloody pillar of strength and considering all that he'd seen and done in the span of his life- it was hardly surprising. Roland had endured the ravages of World War II and survived the Holocaust at the hands of the Nazis!!!  How could one not feel inadequate in the shadow of an individual with experiences far worse than his own?_

_The Scotsman frowned, scolding himself for indulging in such silly insecurities and comparing himself to another when there was nothing to be at fault for. He finally raised his eyes to meet those of the Professor's and discovered a reflection of his own pain.  It wrenched the heart to see a grown man cry, let alone one old enough to be Roddy's own father. He lowered his eyes once more and felt an aged hand rest upon his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly._

_Despite himself, Roddy smiled wearily. Perhaps they weren't so different after all..._  
  
The Scotman's ears pricked at the sound of footsteps scuffing the linoleum and he glanced up to see Dr. Drakken standing at his side. "Roland went to get coffee," the doctor said, taking a seat beside him. "How are you holding up?" He arched his brow at  the glance Roddy gave him and sighed. "Stupid question, I know, but I had to ask."

"As well as can be expected," muttered Roddy. " D'ye have anything to offer on his prognosis?"

Dr. D stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes, "I'moverwhelmed, to say the least. His condition far exceeds the range of my experience. If anyone can answer you in greater detail, Roland can."

"Well, e's not 'ere and I'm askin' ye! Yer a better Doctor than any of th'young wankers in lab coats trouncing around this god forsaken place. I know yer smart enough t'figure it out! S'just" He trailed off and gave the Doctor a pleading look. 

Drakken started to reply and jumped at the Scotman's abrupt shout

"CRUD!" The Scotsman banged a fist on the armrest in frustration. "I hate feeling so bloody helpless!" He stopped, seemingly embarrassed by his outburst. "Forgive me I- ah It's been a long night, but I just need to feel reassured that" He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Drakken shrugged and pinched his brow. "No it's alright. We're all a little high strung with good reason." 

"I'll have t'ask ye t'explain in layman's terms," muttered Roddy. "Medical jargon can get a bit confusin', particularly when yer as tired as I am."

"No worries," said Dee, pausing to gather his thoughts. "Considering the intensity of Freakazoid's power, there should have been nothing left of him. His survival is testament to his resilience. If he continues to heal as remarkably as I've observed, then perhaps there's promise for a full recovery."

Roddy's face brightened.

"He may be scarred for life though physically and psychologically," continued Dee.

Roddy's face immediately fell. 

Drakken raised his hands in a calming gesture, "Now now, only time will tell how efficient his healing factor is Testing for neurological response turned up positive, so the good news is his brain is functioning normally, albeit comatose. It's remarkable, really, the range of his abilities; particularly the strength of his remedial mutation. It's extraordinary. I know only a small handful of people, including myself, with such an ability, it's certainly something I'd like to study" Drakken paused, realizing he'd begun to ramble as he often did. His lips quirked, coaxing a smile from the frazzled Scotsman. "There is hope," he said simply.

Somewhat relieved, Roddy nodded, "Thank'ye Doc."

"Of course."

\----

In lieu of Freakazoid's recent debacle, the presence of several notorious figures, particularly that of Dr. Drakken, had not gone unnoticed. Despite the former villain's more recent years of good service, grudges against his past misdeeds were not so easily forgotten. In an act that was nothing short of miraculous, Drakken chose to ignore the hostile stares and exchange of harsh whispers behind his back. Regardless of the growing urge to rise in defense, what good was there to be had in foolish acts of violence? No, it wouldn't do to lose his temper and retaliate; such behavior would merely fuel the flames of an issue he simply wasn't in the mood to deal with. If people didn't have the ability to let bygones be bygones, then they didn't deserve an iota of his interest, though this was far easier thought than done.

There was a fleeting moment of reprieve from the flow of gossip when Drakken noticed the arrival of Audrey and Royce. To the general public, the odd couple were better known by their former aliases, Cobra Queen and Cave Guy, but to Drakken they were family and God, the relief they gave by simply being there was a blessing. If there had been any doubts as to their connection before, then all was laid to rest that night, when their relations were officially made public.

In light of this, attentions regarding the arrival of family and friends soon turned to Roddy MacStew, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Freakazoid. Such pronounced features as the blue skin and lightening-streaked hair seemed to indicate that the Scotsman was perhaps his father or relative. The addition of Drakken and Royce's shared coloring led many to believe that they were all somehow related. Unfortunately, such assumptions could not be proven or disproven due to a lack of evidence. Answers for the media were short coming and after enduring a series of probing questions from numerous _insistent_ reporters, Roddy's patience had worn out. With a dangerous crackle of sparks, he turned and flew into a verbal tirade that would have put any sailor to shame and sent people scattering like ants. Things might have escalated further if not for the Professor's restraining grip on his shoulder, sparing further casualties aside from a few digital cameras not that most people cared but it would do the Scotsman well to keep himself in check for courtesy's sake. 

From then on, the early hours of the morning passed uninterrupted, which was no doubt encouraged with a behemoth like Royce standing guard at the door of Freakazoid's hospital room.

Speaking of which, with Freakazoid's vitals stabilized at last, Drakken and the others thought they could possibly relax, perhaps even catch a little shut eye, but fate, as it often seemed, had a sense of irony.

"Funny how such an important figure as Freakazoid," came a woman's voice, "would be in the support of his former foes Seems that it should be the other way around, don't you think?" 

Drakken's perpetual frown deepened. ' _Great, just what I need, Betty Director, Global Justice's Nick Fury wannabe_ ' Completely ignoring the woman, he peered over his shoulder with an indignant snarl, "Royce! I thought you said you weren't letting anyone in!" 

Royce gave a non-committal shrug, ducking as he stepped through the door. "She was rather insistent. Besides, it's not like I can argue with a government official who has the potential to make all our lives a living hell" His eyes narrowed, deepening the shadow of his hooded brows to demonstrate that he did not appreciate this intrusion any more than his cousin.

" **Some** watch dog **you** are!" Drakken spat, turning a lethal glare to the stern-looking woman with an eye patch and short cropped chestnut hair. "Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around all the time?" He leaned back against his chair, arms crossed rigidly, "I'm starting to think I have a good reason to be so paranoid!"

"Now is that any way to greet the person who went through hell and back to grant you amnesty, not to mention cleaning up all the hapless messes you've made without so much as a peep from the media?  What I'd like to know is why it is that every time something bad happens, I find that you were somehow involved? If you haven't already guessed, it's my JOB to keep you and yours out of trouble. The least you could be is grateful. Even Shego has had the courtesy to give me **that** much consideration. What's **your** excuse?"

Drakken sputtered, "Trouble-schmubble! It's not like it's my fault. The fact that things tend to go awry when I'm around is mere coincidence! It justHAPPENS!!" He slouched dejectedly, "And I **have** been considerate **some** times. AND, I'll also have you know that my being here is a result of coincidence, nothing more!"

"Understatement of the year," Betty deadpanned.

"OH, SHUT IT!"

"Coincidence or not, you've gotten yourself mixed up in yet another disaster that I'm already well in the process of cleaning up"

With lethal calm, Drakken rose from his chair and continued to glare at her, wondering why he hadn't thought to bring his photon cannon to demolecularize her, but that'd get him sent to prison. Better yet, he could just duct-tape her mouth, spin her into a cocoon of vines, and hang her from the ceiling to beat her into submission like a piñata. Yes, that would be just the thing

Betty regarded him demurely, hands on her hips, "This is where you say thank you."

Squaring his jaw, Drakken ground out, "And WHAT, pray tell, should I be thankful for now?! Yes, I agree there's been collateral damage and it's your job to cover peoples' asses, but the facts are that a VERY important young man is loitering at death's door and these people, the ONLY REAL family he has, are beside themselves with grief!" His expression wavered, allowing Betty a glimpse beneath the Doctor's cantankerous façade but in the blink of an eye, he recovered as though his mask had never slipped. "SO, forgive me, Doctor Betty Director, if I don't fall to my knees and thank my lucky stars this very instant! I have considerably **more IMPORTANT** things to be worried about than stroking your overinflated ego!" 

Betty had the temerity to look nonplussed as Drakken turned his back to her to recollect himself, fists clenched against his thighs. GOD, how he despised that meddlesome woman and her blasted organization! The beginnings of a headache had set in and he desperately wished with every fiber of his being that Shego was there as a buffer. 

He reached up to massage his temples but halted with a startled huff as the proverbial winds were taken from Drakken's sails when Audrey slipped a hand around the crook of his arm, providing a small but placating measure of support. His heart warmed, tension melting somewhat to the subtle strength she offered, reminding him that, aside from her talent as a snake charmer, her abilities extended to people as well. 

"I called Shego a while ago," Audrey whispered, "She should be here soon."

With a wordless dip of his head, Drakken nodded his thanks before feigning interest in his sneakers and the mottled linoleum beneath them. He certainly hoped Shego would arrive sooner rather than later.

"I may have only one eye but I'm not blind," was Betty's calm reply. Her expression softened, gaze scanning the room and for the first time since her arrival, turned to acknowledge the Scotmans with a curt nod, "Roddy."

The hunched profile of the Scotsman did not reply, nor did he bother to look at her. He had had all the excitement he could take and wasn't in the mood to humor anymore visitors, regardless of their status or familiarity.

"Besides," said Betty. "My original intent was not to drag any one of you away for interrogation or to harangue you, so you can relax." Her gaze spanned the room, "all of you."

Drakken might have looked askance at that statement, perhaps even said something sarcastic, but he was far too busy staring in to space and listening to whatever it was Audrey was speaking to him in hushed tones. It seemed his little diatribe was all the attention he was willing to give to Betty and that was just fine. She knew he was listening, spying on her from the corner of his eye, assuming she didn't know he was watching. 

Quietly, Betty turned and shut the door to ensure that what she was about to say was kept strictly between herself and the occupants of the room. "I'd like to talk about what happened."

Roddy flinched into attention, and glanced sharply at Betty. 

"We need to discuss what actions should be taken to preserve Freakazoid's identity and his privacy. In addition to that, I'd also like to arrange a moreappropriate, means of care." She paused, regarding each of them, first Roddy, then Drakken, and last of all Audrey and Royce. Good. She had their attention. Her gaze returned to Drakken, "I was not aware that you were an acquaintance of Freakazoid's. However, this reminds me of your association with the Professor, and, knowing that he has always thought of the boy as his grandson, I'm not at all surprised of how that brings you into the equation." She smiled, which made the doctor shift nervously, "But this certainly narrows down my choice in Freakazoid's future accommodations."

"W-wait," sputtered Drakken. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Don't play stupid, Doctor, it means just the way it sounds."

Drakken started to reply but was interrupted by a distinctive series of taps upon the door, which prompted Betty to reopen the door long enough to allow the Professor in. He shut his mouth, decinding for once to err to the side of caution and wait for Betty to fully explain herself.

"Ah, Ms. Director," the Professor greeted, "I had a feeling you'd come. How nice to see you again" He held up one of the two cardboard caddies he'd brought, laden with the morning's second round of caffeinated brew, "Coffee?"

"No thank you," she declined. 

"Suit yourself," said Roland as he circled the room to give each person a cup before taking the last for himself. He sipped, making a face, "Hardly ze best, but certainly not ze vorst, und it vill do in a pinch."

"Aye," Roddy softly affirmed.

"Betty, it's been a vhile," Said Roland, sounding jovial despite his obvious exhaustion. "You're looking vell."

"I could say the same to you, although not nearly as well, given the circumstances" Ms. Director approached the hospital bed, focusing on the trill of technology that monitored the boy's vitals. "I'm sorry..."

Seeing where she was looking, Roland's smile melted as the lines of his face grew deeper with the strain in his voice. "As much as I'd like to say zat I vas prepared for zis, I vasn't" He shook his head, bringing his cup to his lips to take a draught. He swallowed, shaking his head once more to dispel the urgent tug of fatigue. "neiz'eh of us vere"

Whatever emotion there may have been in Betty's expression, were quickly expelled and suddenly she was all business as she turned to address her odd-looking audience. "I've secured the neighborhood perimeters, allowing my team to work on Dexter's residence uninterrupted, but in order to appropriately assess the situation; I need detailed information from all of you." There was a deafening silence that followed and Betty patiently crossed her arms, not once losing her authoritative stance, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, otherwise, without a decent cover-up, not only is Freakazoid's true identity at stake, but the reputations of Dexter Douglas and those he is affiliated with are as well."

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Locking up the Sun © Poets of the Fall
> 
>  **Author's Random Blah Notes:** The inspiration for this chapter stemmed from my sudden discovery of a band from Finland by the name of Poets of the Fall. I fell in love with their music and my boyfriend suggested that I use their song "Locking Up the Sun" for this chapter. Not only does the song really set the mood, but the lyrics really home in on the objective of the chapter, focusing on the fact that in Freakazoid's absence, that among his closest friends, several ex-villains have stepped up to volunteer their aid. Ironic, don't you think? They, (Cave Guy, Cobra Queen, Drakken, etc) realize the good in what Freak has done for them in spite of their past misdeeds. Now, Freak needs help and they have a 'second chance' to ally themselves with the ailing young hero and return the favor!
> 
> The hospital scene was partially inspired by Superman's near death experience in the film, Superman Returns. I was really moved by the public response to the ailing hero and considering how well-known Freakazoid is (and the fact that he has interacted with famous people throughout the world), really supports the turn out of the crowd.
> 
> Also, I'd like to discuss a comment made by NeoSaiyanAngel: "I'm surprised Betty is being as intrusive with Drakken as she's been in the latest chapter and implied thusly. I'd've thought she'd leave that to Kim or local police."
> 
> The reason I chose to have Betty step in is because Drakken is kind of like Vash the Stampede, in the sense that he can be a bit of a human typhoon, leaving disaster in his wake, whether it be intentional or not. Therefore, you need powerful and influential people like Betty Director or Kim Possible to step in (After all, they know how to handle Drakken's unique personality).
> 
> I thought about having Kim and Ron step in and play a role in Chapter 9, but I'm waiting a bit longer for that. Hell, I may even have pretty decent and valid excuse for Kim's absence. (just give me some time to think). What really inspired me to go ahead and use good 'ol Dr. Betty Director is because of my fondness for such scenes as Marvel's Nick Fury discussion with Ironman/Tony Stark (see the doughnut scene in live action film, Ironman II). Betty's relationship with Drakken is on par with Fury's interactions in Ironman, therefore, I couldn't resist writing my own little version of that scene. (It's important that Dr. Betty Director of Global Justice was intentionally modeled after Nick Fury, leader of Shield).
> 
> Also, it's important to note that my intention of Betty being there is part of her knowing Freakazoid (this idea is fictional, not canon), of which the young hero's status in Global Justice is worth noting. Considering that Freakazoid has interacted with a good number of important figures throughout the world (Princess Di, Barbara Streisand Leonard Maltin, Henry Kissinger, Leonard Nemoy, particularly the president of the united states Bill Clinton and the first lady, Hillary) . Naturally, Freak's made a name for himself with the government/political world. So, this legitimizes how Betty would somehow fall into knowing Freak, considering one of the objective of Global Justice is to spy/monitor the goings-on of superpower beings (both good and evil) and make sure they're behaving themselves...
> 
> I imagine someone in the higher-ups may have even decided to pull a few strings after hearing about Freakazoid's accident and hailed Betty's direct service. It pays to know people, particularly if they owe you a debt for saving their lives.


	11. Chapter 10: Wretches and kings

**Integration**

Chapter 10

"Wretches and Kings"

**Disclaimers:**

Integration, Aaron Mumphries © Me

Kim Possible © Disney 

Freakazoid! © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks

Wretches and Kings © Linkin Park

**Author's Note:**

Several songs inspired me to write this chapter: "Illusion and Dream" & "Dreaming Wide Awake" by Poets of the Fall, "Humbling River" by Puscifer, "Strange Behavior" by Feed Me, and "Ghosts N' Stuff"(Nero Remix) by Deadmau5 and "Blue" by Gemini   However, I finally found the one that truly set the mood: "Wretches and Kings" by Linkin Park, which portrays the situation for all the characters involved, particularly Dr. Director's confrontation with Roddy (wretches, being Roddy and the Gang vs. the kings, being Global Justice and the Media). Another song by Linkin Park "Leave out all the Rest" sets the mood for the mind trip with Dex and Freak in the Freak-a-Zone. With all these songs to inspire me, it took a great deal of time to decide which worked best to use as a title for the chapter. Being that I'm rather biased and a total fan-girl of Linkin Park, you can imagine where my decision leaned Yep. You guessed it, as if the title "Wretches and Kings" doesn't state the obvious. *lol* I must note that the version of "Wretches and Kings" that is best suited to the tone of this chapter is the Remixed version found on youtube as a Transformers 3 music video. Just go to You Tube and type in the search bar **Transformers 3 Dark of the Moon ( Linkin Park SoundTrack )**

A great deal of study went into figuring out the Kim Possible universe Global Justice organization and its Marvel verse counterpart, S.H.I.E.L.D. I wanted to depict Dr. Betty Director's role as realistically as possible, given the circumstances and all that Global Justice represents. Don't be surprised at her behavior. This isn't a crossover of the PG-rated cartoons you remember, folks! I'm taking the kiddy gloves come off and playing the characters as you'd expect them to be in the real world, which places it in the Rated-R category. That means le-GASP! **ADULT SITUATIONS**!! There's going to be language, violence, deception, espionage, etcetera I'm not going to sugar coat this. Shit's gettin' real! SO if you can't handle an Angsty R-Rated story, then I suggest you go back to watching My Little Pony and pretend the world is made of warm fuzzies, peace-loving friendship and things that crap rainbows.

Enjoy the read and as always, reviews are encouraged!

**:: References ::**

The part where Dexter says "Indeed" and Freak responds with "You WOUND me, Teal'c!" is referencing to a character named Teal'c in Stargate SG1. Teal'c is stoic and says very little, mostly "indeed" and if you played a game where you drank a shot of booze every time he says "indeed" in an episode, you'd be blitzed out of your mind. Lol.

**\--- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 ---**

. . .

. . .

Audrey opened her mouth then closed it again.

"Um. What?" exclaimed Royce, equally as stunned at the revealing of Freakazoid's identity.

With a vague look of annoyance, Betty Director arched a brow. "You didn't know?"

"Zey didn't," vouched the Professor. "Drakken und I hadn't ze time to share zat fact Ve intended to" His expression grew serious. "Ve **haf** been a bit _preoccupied_ "

Royce glared at his cousin. "YOU KNEW?!"

Drakken flinched, shoulders rising close to his ears. "I had my suspicions!" he blurted, "But I only just found out a day ago from the Professor! So stop looking at me like that! I would've told you earlier but like he said, we **have** been kind of busy so it slipped my mind!"

"Well," said Audrey, at last finding her voice. "Now that I know, it _certainly_ explains a lotand to think he's been right under our noses all along. He's owned that beach house for several years now"

Royce shook his head in disbelief, his gaze inexorably drawn to the hospital bed. "Dexter Douglas," he whispered. "Would never have guess in a million years, though I suppose I should've known better, considering that it was no secret that Dexter Douglas took over Armando Gutierrez's old job at APEX. Between his hatred of Freakazoid, and Dexter stealing his position, 'ol sod never shut up about it."

"Roddy," said Betty, deadly calm. "I'd like to have a word with you." When the Scotsman refused to acknowledge her, Betty's temper flared. "That wasn't a request!" She barked, her tone brooking no argument.

Deciding that it was time he drew himself out of the proverbial fog and back into reality, Roddy stood and slowly turned to look at Ms. Director. He had hoped to avoid this sort of confrontation but it seemed that in all the uproar, he'd forgotten to factor in the interference of Global Justice, a mistake he realized that had finally proven fatal to Freakazoid's once closely guarded identity. Mentally berating himself for his carelessness, he sighed heavily through his nose, "Didn'ye jus' say that you weren't going to interrogate or harangue either o' us?"

"I've changed my mind," she snapped.

"Then talk," said Roddy, gesturing to the others with a wave of his arm. "We're all ears."

Betty frowned, "Just you and me, IN private."

"Nae. Here or nowhere."

An errant muscle twitched in Betty's jaw. "What part of 'that wasn't a request' didn't you get? I'm not here for shits and giggles Mr. MacStew and you should know that. You have two options, either you cut the bullshit and follow orders **now** OR we can play this little song and dance routine and I'll have you detained and dragged back to headquarters where I'll be more than happy to FORCE you to talk by **any** means necessary." She squared her shoulders and left the room without waiting for a response, safe in the knowledge that her threat stood firm, assured that Roddy would choose the easy route.

Roddy frowned, tight lipped and refusing to make eye contact with anyone as he followed Betty out the door.

"I don't suppose that'll end well," muttered Royce.

Drakken nodded and started toward the door in pursuit but ground to a halt when a tall bearded man in a dark suit stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He shook his head at the Doctor, never once saying a word and fell into an 'at ease' stance, observing each of the room's occupants with a calculative sweep of his gaze.

Dee elbowed Royce's side and whispered, "Seriously? We're stuck with a baby sister? Looks kinda scrawny, sorta resembles that comedian Conan O'Brien right down to the stupid haird" He quickly fell silent at Audrey's glare and Royce rolled his eyes. 

The man regarded the Doctor with a dispassionate quirk of his lips. "I've got agents stationed around the building and at every exit monitoring your activities, which includes jamming of all wireless communications. So, if either of you so much as even farts, Dr. Director will know about it." 

With an exaggerated huff, Drakken crossed his arms, annoyed that his attempt to lighten the mood had failed miserably. ' _Figures that no one finds the comparison even remotely funny except for me_ ' He grabbed a newspaper he brought in earlier, dragged a chair over to the window on the opposite side of the hospital bed and plopped down to read. ' _I suppose I'll cooperatefor now_.'

Meanwhile, the Professor continued to sip his coffee, taking the Doctor's example and pulling over a chair to sit next to him.

Drakken handed Roland the news section of the paper, offering a companionable smile of thanks and busied his own mind with reading the funnies and solving the day's crossword puzzle. 

"At times," the professor muttered, adjusting his spectacles, "Silence iz golden."

Drakken eyed the Conan O'Brien lookalike and snorted. "Yeah, and Duct tape is silver!"

"you haf a point, mein fruend..."

"where's a photon canon when you need one? ever thought of inventing subspace compartments to store one in?"

"PLEASE stop talking," Audrey groaned.

The Doctor stuck out his tongue then buried his nose in the paper without further comment.

 **\- 0 - 0 - 0 **

Dr. Betty Director, Global Justice honcho, led Roddy down the hall to a quiet sitting room where two large men in dark suits and sun glasses stood guard at the door. Noticing Dr. Director's approach, one opened the door for her and the other stiffly eyed the Scotsman following close at her heels.

No sooner had Roddy and Betty stepped in and the door clicked shut behind them, without warning, the Scotsman registered the sting of a hand across his face. He stared wide-eyed at Dr. Director, having expected a tongue lashing and not the burning hand print that throbbed across the left side of his face. He couldn't recall the last time a woman or anyone had slapped him He shook himself out of his daze and took a reflexive step back only to have her round on him again, red faced with fury. 

"AND JUST WHAT THE HELL KIND OF IDIOT DO YOU PLAY ME FOR MISTER MACSTEW?!" Betty shouted.

Erring to the side of caution, Roddy decided it was better to say as little as possible till he knew exactly what she was trying to get at. He scratched his head, suddenly missing the hat he usually wore due to nervous fingers itching to fiddle with something, ANYTHING. "Eh?"

"Don't play clueless with me!" She jabbed him in the chest with two fingers. "You know EXACTLY what I'm talking about!!!" 

"DO I?"

Betty paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose and muttering an indiscernible string of expletives. "I ought to toss you in maximum security prison with the rest of those criminals and throw away the key for the shit you've pulled!"

"If 'n yer referrin' t' Cave Guy, Cobra Queen, and Doctor Drakken, then I must admit that I never expected them t'be involved in all o' this It just _happened_." 

"I'm not just talking about today or those degenerate friends you've made. That's just the icing on the cake! I'm mostly referring to your involvement with that raving lunatic Freakazoid or shall I call him DEXTER DOUGLAS?!"

Roddy sat down into nearby chair and frowned at the shit-eating sneer curling her lips. "What of it?"

"For nearly a decade since that **freak** showed up, I've been patient enough to wait for the right moment for one of you to fuck up!  Considering the innumerable times I thought I had you where I wanted you, only to have the carpet ripped right out from under me  and now I've caught you both red handed at last!"

Roddy arched a brow.

Betty planted both hands on the arm rests and leaned close till her face was mere inches from his. "Seems to me you and the brat have been holding out on me "

"Aye?"

"I now understand the association between Freakazoid and Dexter Douglas because neither you nor the Freak was there to clean up the mess." She tsked, shaking her head and had the audacity to look smug. "You've left quite the paper trail in the last few days, what and all with the inexplicable net blackouts and a neighborhood that looks as if it was struck by a bomb You've cost the government millions of dollars and I'm on damage control AS USUAL and I've got a shit list a mile long to add to it." 

Betty stood back, arms crossed again and her single eye searing a hole into his forehead. "Don't think that just because you somehow managed to hack your way, time and time again, into classified files and erased a decade's worth of information, does it mean I've conveniently forgotten it ever happened! Sensitive information doesn't just MAGICALLY disappear! If you honestly think THAT, then you're an even bigger fool than I imagined!"

"There is no proof except for the absence of proof!" Roddy spat.

"Irrelevant! You've been compromised, MacStew, which is WHY I'm here to set the records straight! The proof **is** why I'm here! You've been sniffing through the systems, the both of you, and the fact that no one is at this moment, is why the media is having a hay day!" She threw up her arms. "Gee, I **WONDER** WHY?! Stop trying to pull the wool over my eyes, Roddy! Based on the knowledge of interaction with those retards in the other room and Freakazoid's little blow up, leads me to believe that you're an even greater threat than ever! You have been protecting that accident-waiting-to-happen for too long and it's time that I've taken matters into my OWN hands!"

"What?"

"You're a liability and it's obvious with the both of you running rampant, means we, THIS country, the WORLD even, aren't safe! Whether you feel like admitting to me he's Dexter or not hardly matters, I have enough leads to know that for the last ten years that brat has been a walking time bomb waiting to happen and 12 hours ago, it finally went off."

"He didnae do it on purpose! It's rubbish fr'you t'assume he had any intent t'harm anyone! His powers're -" 

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR EXCUSES!!" she exploded. "He's blown up a significant chunk of prime square acreage and created an electromagnetic pulse that's fried just about every electronic device within a 2 mile radius! Innocent or not, it's clear he's no longer capable of controlling himself!! And then, and this is the kicker, you throw an out of control living WEAPON like Freakazoid into the hands of the renowned Doctor Drakken, who until a few years ago, WAS the World's number one MOST wanted criminal! He may have redeemed himself with the United Nations regarding that whole Alien fiasco a few years back but he HAS been prone to slip into his old habits and I can't have that kind of recklessness just running rampant! Your thoughtlessness is setting us all up for disaster!  And don't even get me started on what I have to say about those other clowns or the fact that you've gone blue and quite possibly as unstable as the Freak There must be control and as of NOW, YOU and Freakazoid are the property of Global Justice and you have absolutely NO jurisdiction!" 

Roddy paled.

"You have exactly TWO hours to say your goodbyes. I _suggest_ you go quietly!"

 **\- 0 - 0 - 0 **

Upon waking somewhere in la-la land and suffering what could only be described as a serious case of déjà vu, Freakazoid found himself standing in the very same dream-room as before. The only difference was that the table had been cleared and the bowls of oatmeal were gone. There were no messes to speak of, not even the conspicuously aimed glob of oatmeal that had missed his head and pegged the wall. Nothing was out of place and if not for the fact that the table top shone with a fresh gloss of lemon-scented wood polish, it would have been easy for him to assume that no one had been there. However, that was not the case as his attention centered on Dexter, who stood facing away from him at the very same window as before, the only difference being that the blinds were drawn up.

Sensing that he was no longer alone, Dexter inclined his head and spoke softly, "Penny for your thoughts?"

That strong sense of déjà vu returned, making Freakazoid hesitate to respond. Hadn't Dexter said the very same thing the last time? He scratched his head, his mind playing out the scene where Dexter had confronted him, saying something about cardiac arrest just before Freakazoid had ultimately blacked out. Freak placed a hand over his heart, brows knit in worry. The pain had felt so real, a feeling which he'd never experienced before and never wanted to again.  Then again, if that'd really happened then that brought forth an entirely different question to mind.

"Shouldn't I be dead?" he wondered aloud.

Dexter slowly turned, the contrast of the ruddy afternoon light behind him making him appear dark and solemn. "You're here, aren't you?" He smiled in the chiding sort of a way that made his question seem very silly.

A bit miffed at the evasiveness of Dexter's response, Freakazoid squared his jaw. "Do you always make a point of answering a question with a question?"

With a casual bow, Dexter replied, "Captain obvious here, at your service."

Freakazoid let out a frustrated puff of air. Fine, if the name of Dexter's game was to answer in riddles then there was really nothing he could do but grin and bear it. "So," he edged. "Is this a dream or some weird kind of purgatory?"

"A little bit of both."

"Oh-kay. But I don't understand why we're both here. I thought we merged? You said so yourself."

"We have, but only in a physical sense, thus far. Your mind is not yet ready to accept it, which is probably why we're here and why you're stilling suffering."

Whatever slight bit of irritation Freak may have felt in that moment utterly dissolved into nothing and he flopped bonelessly into the nearest chair. "Oh."

Dexter crossed his arms, "You okay? You're not usually this serious."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned about all this? I mean, first we merge and I go into a raving panic thinking you're dead, and then we appear wherever HERE is, you throw oatmeal at me and suddenly I'M the one dying of cardiac arrest. Mind you, mister smarty-pants that a cardiac arrest usually spells death unless we're lucky enough to be saved by a doc who knows what he's doing NOW we're here again and I'm" He scratched his head, sparing a quick look at his surroundings. "Not really surequasi-dead, maybe." He lowered his hands and stared at them as if he didn't recognize them, turning them palms-up to rest on his thighs. "Am I really alive...?"

Dexter tilted his head back to look up at the mottled white ceiling, sighing audibly through his nose. "Yeah, you're alive alrightbarely, but I think this would be what you'd call a safe zone, kind of like that place you created in my head when you weren't always around."

Freakazoid stared uncomprehendingly at his counterpart.

"You know _that_ place."

Freak blinked.

Dexter regarded him flatly. "That place where you sit in my head on your couch and watch old reruns drinking good coffee that most people would _pray_ to have. Ya know, my eyes as windows to the world when I wasn't transformed, going to school, and living my ordinary lifestyle? THAT place." He paused a moment before asking, "Ringing any bells?"

It dawned on him then, feeling utterly stupid for forgetting such an integral part of his life, his inner-sanctuary, Freakazoid threw up his arms with a cry. "OOOOOH!  THE FREAKA-ZONE!"

"Ding! Checkmate!"

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about now and stop being so sarcastic! It's weird! GEEZ, how could I forget that?  So, this is" He made a face and looked around with a far more critical eye than before. "Meh It's different than before, more boring like the place we went to visit grandpa it's positively **MIND-NUMBING**!"

Dexter arched a brow. "It's not nice to make fun of grandpa, you know he wasn't well and seriously, did you have to use that term? I swear to God your puns are getting worse every day."

"Well, come on," Freak cried. "You can't tell me that dinky old table, some ordinary chairs, a window with blinds, and white walls and white ceilings, isn't boring! This place is fit for a long couch and a Freudian psychiatrist, **not** the clinically insane!"

Eyes narrowed, Dexter arched a brow. "You're saying that you're insane?"

There was a pregnant pause as Freakazoid had the audacity to look incredulous. "DUH!"

"I should've guessed," Dexter chuckled. "Of course you are YOU, after all."

Freak thumped the table with a fist. "Ya damn SKIPPY, I am!"

Dexter stared wistfully at his counterpart, his teeth peeking out from between lips that widened into a grin. He chuckled, combing his fingers through his hair. "I think that the analytical part of my brain has willingly accepted our mutual desire to survive en lieu of completely losing my cool. Part of me wants to throw a tantrum like a spoiled two year old at the fate we've been given So don't think I don't like this anymore than you do. The caveat to that is you've seen for yourself that it's not like either of us will get 'our way'. In the end, it's going to be what it's going to be. Getting upset will only exacerbate the issue and I think you realize that that's not how it's supposed to work"

Dexter paused to choose his words carefully, eyes lowering to find Freakazoid watching him intently. "Deep down, I think I've always known an eventual merge would occur. And I know it seemed like I gave up in the end but when you think about it hard enough, you realize that trying to fight against nature" He closed his eyes and shook his head as if he didn't want to believe the truth in his own words. "We can't avoid the inevitable. Some things are just meant to be and running away from those problems will only make them bite you back that much harder when fate calls to collect. I  We've struggled with that since we graduated high school. Don't you understand that?"

Freak nodded, albeit with reluctance. "Yeah You said before that my trying to stay out of the picture and let you have a normal life was part of it, that the struggle to coexist was part of the catalyst."

"In a sense, yes, but it's really so much more than that I suppose I'm just theorizing that the whole point is that this place is..." He held his arms open as if to encompass the room. "It's our "last stand", the freaka-zone reborn to mirror both our worlds combined. This is the final fight against the immutable force that caused our integration and it's quite obvious that we've been given a brief grace period to come to terms with our feelings before we're inevitably forced to move on."

"The finality of it though," whispered Freak. "How can I move on without you? Ten years is a long time to share the kind of existence we had I don't know anyone as well as you. You're my best friend, my brother, and I owe you my life. Without you and the flaw you activated, I'd never be here and you'd still be you. So it hardly seems fair that we should merge and I become the dominant personality, stealing whatever chances you may have had to reform your life and have a family of your own. It's just cruel."

Dexter broke into a smile, "You know, in actuality, the flaw that gave you life wasn't me at all. I was the catalyst, remember? If there's anyone you owe your life to, it's Mr. Chubbikins. His fat butt got up on that keyboard and mashed out the code that started it all. It was a- FREAK- accident" He snickered, "PUN intended."

"That's beside the point, and you KNOW it," replied Freak, though the sincerity of his statement didn't quite mask the amusement glimmering in his eyes. "I came second. I always have and I'm perfectly fine with that. Regardless of what you think, I have always thought about you first."

Dexter arched a brow, looking mildly skeptical."Really?"

"Okay," admitted Freak, holding up his hands in surrender. "Maybe I didn't think of you at first. I was pretty wild in the early days, selfishly bent on making your deepest desires a reality and having fun and exploiting the weakness of my foes and generally making a fool of myself without considering how it affected you You were my emotional scapegoat whereas I got away scott free without fear of the consequences in having to feel much of anything aside from what I _allowed_ myself to feel" He sighed. "That about cover it?"

"Indeed."

Freak feigned a look of offense. "You WOUND me, Teal'c!  But honestly, later on after I got all the fun and games out of my system, I started to consider myself second in command, particularly when things started to get serious, both between me and Steff and _other_ things ya know, life in general."

Dexter nodded.

"It isn't my right t"

Dexter held up a hand to silence him. "Freak, I want you to listen to me and listen well. You are as much a living, free-willed human being as I am. You have thoughts, feelings, wants, and needs. Who am I to take that away from you? I too was selfish to want so much time to myself. I denied your desire to help, to continue being a superhero, and fulfilling your duty. I forced you to lay low, to move so far away from all the people you'd grown to love, the only family you've ever known  Even if that family is weird and quirky, but loves me and in an indirect way, loves you as well. You see how all that I aimed to accomplish eventually backfired! I could've tried to understand Duncan a little better but I made it worse by not communicating enough and egging you on to tease him until it drove him to think he'd lost his marbles! Now, he hates us for REAL and I can't really blame him for it." He ran a hand down his face, "And God only knows what our parents are thinking right now! Mom and Duncan are in on the charade and at this point Dad probably knows too The secret's out, Freak, and I have no one to blame but myself."

"You shouldn't punish yourself," defended Freak. "I mean, don't I have a share in the blame too? For all intents and purposes, I'm still YOU; part of me has control. That doesn't lessen the fact that I'm just as guilty." He frowned, wilting as he rubbed his chin. "Still am, actually but even if you think we're responsible for Duncan trying to kill us, that doesn't mean it gave him the right to say the things he said in the voicemail that night. That was just wrong!"

"I agree! It's not like I'm defending him or anything, I'm just trying to understand Duncan from his perspective" Dexter leaned forward and flicked Freak's nose. "and stop trying to turning this into a blame game!"

"Oi! The heck wuzzat for?!"

With a roll of his eyes, Dexter ignored Freak's plaintiff yowl. "Yeah, there were moments when you didn't make the brightest of choices, but mistakes HAPPEN! Deep down, that's part of what makes us human. Freak, you're the best thing that's ever happened in my life, so don't you forget it!"

Freak nodded quietly and grinned, enjoying the silent understanding between them and the meaning in their conversation. However, after those few golden moments had blissfully passed, the ornery spark of life returned to Freakazoid's eyes, "Really?"

Dexter mirrored Freak's expression and nodded, "Really really. So, just cut out the emo bullshit and accept that we're equally responsible for what happened. Remember, it takes two"

"To tango," Interrupted Freak. "Yeah, I know the saying" 

"Then you **need** to start listening! I hate to think about what life may have been like without the pinnacle chip. Without you there to cheer me on HEY! Don't you roll your eyes at me! I owe you everything and then some! When the going got tough, and there were a **lot** of moments like that, you gave me a reason to live." Dexter rose stiffly to his full height, feigning renewed interest in the view outside the window and reassumed the same position he'd been in when Freakazoid first found him. "But it's time for a change"

"Dex"

"Becoming Freakazoid gave me a purpose. I suddenly had the motivation to take life by the horns and be the best I could be, but I became so focused on my own goals that I never stopped to consider how that would affect you or my family."

"So all's forgiven?"

Dexter glanced over his shoulder, "Of course."

"Even the part where I blew up your beach house?"

"If you don't quit it I'm going to conjure another bowl of oatmeal and dump the whole thing on your head."

"FINE! YEESH! Was just makin' sure."

"."

"Soooo," Freak sighed, rocking the chair back with his heels, "What now?"

"Hm?"

"Does it really have to happen this way?"

Dexter smiled tiredly, the darkening approach of dusk casting shadows over his face, making him appear much older than his twenty-seven years. "All signs point to yes."

Freak reversed his position, legs stretched out and arms draped lazily over the back of the chair. "But are you really ready to give it all up? Weren't' you happy the way we were?" He trailed off. "I was."

"I'm not giving anything up and yes, I was happy, for the most part. I'm just tired of trying to go solo at life. I'm ready for a change. We can do things together rather than fighting for a position on who gets to be whom for a day. Now, it's up to you decide when you're ready to let go and actually start _living_."

"BUT!"

"I told you I'll always be here even if it is that conscientious little voice niggling in your ear. What part of that don't you understand?"

"But what do you mean by HERE?! You mean the Freak-a-zone, right? I can come here all I want and visit with you, just like always?"

"No."

"BUT WHHHHY?!"

Dexter gave him a look of exasperation. "If you haven't already figured out the answer to that question, then there's not much I can do."

""

"You shouldn't wait long," Dexter said gently, leaning hard against the window and pressing his forehead to the glass. "There isn't much time and the longer you stay here, the worse things will get on the outside" He closed his eyes and slumped over as if to fall but in a blur of movement Freakazoid caught him.  

"We're getting weaker," said Freak.

Dexter nodded, "Don't worry just yet though.  Being here takes a lot of energy so I'm just tired..." He smiled and sluggishly patted his counterpart's shoulder. "See ya later Freak Try to get some rest and think about what I said."

 

**\- 0 - 0 - 0 **



After several passes around the block and discovering that all available intersections to the hospital were blocked to civilians, Shego swerved into a nearby parking garage, found a space and threw the car into park. "SHIT!" she punched the steering wheel, forcing an abrupt bleep from the horn.

Audrey had warned her that the place was crowded, but Shego hadn't realized just how bad it'd gotten until she'd seen it for herself. The place was positively swarming with people, paparazzi, not to mention the fuzz! 

Shego scrutinized her unresponsive phone, frustrated that despite numerous attempts to reach her husband, Audrey, or anyone else, all resulted in failure. She frowned, not liking what that implied. Too many calls made at once were bound to overwhelm the local cell towers, but she gathered that it was just as likely that someone was jamming the signal 

Considering the number of dark, unmarked cars positioned at every cross street, Shego knew that could mean only one thing. "Global Justice," she hissed, flexing her fingers to resist the burning urge to ignite her hands and destroy something. 

"FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!" Shego killed the engine, tore off her seat belt and stepped outside, stomping furiously to the parking kiosk and paying for a parking pass. It was better to go on foot from here; otherwise she risked having the feds recognize her or the conspicuous black and green flamed  paint job of her PT Cruiser. She really wasn't in the mood to hang around and find out. "Candlejack!" she shouted, reaching inside to slip her parking pass onto the dash and grab her purse before locking up and activating the alarm system with a resounding squawk.  
    
"You called?" queried a ghostly voice.

With her hands on her hips, she regarded the pale white haired man that materialized in front of her. "We have a problem!"

Jack arched a brow and peered over the top of his matrix-style sunglasses, "So I've gathered."

Shego glanced behind him, realizing he'd come alone. "Where are the kids?"

"Safe, watching a movie with Aeron."

"Ah, well you know how I feel about them being left alone"

"Just because I'm here speaking with you doesn't mean I'm not watching them You should know that."

Shego blew her bangs out of her eyes and sighed, "Yeah, I'm just a little on edge and making double sure."

"Hn."

She held up her smart phone, which for all the good it could do, had served as nothing more than an expensive paper weight for the past hour. "I can't reach anyone, keep getting cut off..."

With a curious tilt of his head, Jack's red eyes grew strangely luminous from behind his darkened lenses. There was a long silence and it seemed as if his mind was a million miles away, then an instant later, he blinked into awareness.  "Global Justice is jamming the signal," he said. 

Shego grunted her dismay. "I figured as much... Hearing you confirm it though just pisses me off. With the feds, media, **and** all the bystanders, it's going to be damn near impossible to get in without making a scene."

"Would you like me take you inside?"

"Nah. Even if I got in, there wouldn't be a whole lot I could do if queen bitch has the guys on lock down.  Don't get me wrong, I'd **love** to fry a few faces but I'm trying to keep a low profile." Her eyes narrowed, "People like us kind of stand out."

"Indubitably"

"However, I'd like you to try and get in touch with them."

"It seems that Roddy is already considering that option"

"That blue guy with the kilt?"

"He said my name," he paused, "and so has Drakken." 

"Ah. Sounds like shit's hit the fan. You better go BUT not before you take me to your place first! You may have all your magic I-see-everything mumbo jumbo, but I'd feel better being there to keep an eye on the rug rats myself. OH! and keep an eye on my car. I'll be bustin' some skulls if anyone tries to steal it."

Jack grinned and held out his hand, "As you wish."

**\--To be Continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wretches and Kings © Linkin Park
> 
>  **Author's Note:** Several songs inspired me to write this chapter: "Illusion and Dream"  & "Dreaming Wide Awake" by Poets of the Fall, "Humbling River" by Puscifer, "Strange Behavior" by Feed Me, and "Ghosts N' Stuff"(Nero Remix) by Deadmau5 and "Blue" by Gemini … However, I finally found the one that truly set the mood: "Wretches and Kings" by Linkin Park, which portrays the situation for all the characters involved, particularly Dr. Director's confrontation with Roddy (wretches, being Roddy and the Gang vs. the kings, being Global Justice and the Media). Another song by Linkin Park "Leave out all the Rest" sets the mood for the mind trip with Dex and Freak in the Freak-a-Zone. With all these songs to inspire me, it took a great deal of time to decide which worked best to use as a title for the chapter. Being that I'm rather biased and a total fan-girl of Linkin Park, you can imagine where my decision leaned… Yep. You guessed it, as if the title "Wretches and Kings" doesn't state the obvious. *lol* I must note that the version of "Wretches and Kings" that is best suited to the tone of this chapter is the Remixed version found on youtube as a Transformers 3 music video. Just go to You Tube and type in the search bar Transformers 3 Dark of the Moon ( Linkin Park SoundTrack )
> 
> A great deal of study went into figuring out the Kim Possible universe Global Justice organization and its Marvel verse counterpart, S.H.I.E.L.D. I wanted to depict Dr. Betty Director's role as realistically as possible, given the circumstances and all that Global Justice represents. Don't be surprised at her behavior. This isn't a crossover of the PG-rated cartoons you remember, folks! I'm taking the kiddy gloves come off and playing the characters as you'd expect them to be in the real world, which places it in the Rated-R category. That means— le-GASP! ADULT SITUATIONS! There's going to be language, violence, deception, espionage, etcetera… I'm not going to sugar coat this. Shit's gettin' real! SO if you can't handle an Angsty R-Rated story, then I suggest you go back to watching My Little Pony and pretend the world is made of warm fuzzies, peace-loving friendship and things that crap rainbows.
> 
> Enjoy the read and as always, reviews are encouraged!
> 
>  
> 
> **:: References ::**
> 
>  
> 
> The part where Dexter says "Indeed" and Freak responds with "You WOUND me, Teal'c! is referencing to a character named Teal'c in Stargate SG1. Teal'c is stoic and says very little, mostly "indeed" and if you played a game where you drank a shot of booze every time he says "indeed" in an episode, you'd be blitzed out of your mind. Lol


	12. Chapter 11: Castle of Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited by yours truly with help from her one-and-only, Arcanix Soulstar.  
> Disclaimers:
> 
> Integration, Aaron Mumphries, Dante and Seth Lipsky (Drakken & Shego’s twins) © Me
> 
> Kim Possible © Disney 
> 
> Freakazoid!, Roddy MacStew, Professor Heiney, Royce Mumphries (Cave Guy), Audrey Mumphries (Cobra Queen), Candlejack© Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks
> 
> "Castle of Glass" & "Castle of Glass (Mike Shinoda Remix)" © Linkin Park

This chapter was edited by yours truly with help from her one-and-only, Arcanix Soulstar.  
Disclaimers:

Integration, Aaron Mumphries, Dante and Seth Lipsky (Drakken & Shego’s twins) © Me

Kim Possible © Disney 

Freakazoid! © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks

"Castle of Glass" & "Castle of Glass (Mike Shinoda Remix)" © Linkin Park

(See the end of the chapter for more notes!!!)

**Integration**

Chapter 11

“Castle of Glass”

Dr. Drakken laid down the funnies paper and stood to stretch, yawning hugely as his arms extended up high over his head for several seconds until he finally relaxed and scratched his sides.

The Professor startled awake at the Doctor’s movement, having dozed off moments earlier out of sheer exhaustion. He adjusted his glasses, eyed the Global Justice guard still posted at the door, muttered something derisive in Yiddish and raised his brows at Dr. D.

Drakken’s lips quirked, understanding what the professor had said and surveyed the state of the others who all sat- or in the case of his cousin Royce, remained standing. The seven foot behemoth leered at the bearded man in a suit with a look of utter loathing and contempt. It was a look reserved for those he wished nothing more than to crush into powder. Drakken shuddered to imagine what Royce could do if he unleashed the strength of the unstoppable juggernaut within. These days, such moments were few and far between, but it was obvious to everyone that Royce was not feeling particularly calm with this young stick-in-the-mud in the suit blocking their only exit.

Audrey gave Drakken a pleading look and Dee cleared his throat to show he’d noticed her as he returned his gaze to the Professor before him who was still peering at him from over the edge of his newspaper.

Drakken rolled his shoulders and shifted a little. “Ngggh….so… I hope that no one objects but I have a mighty need to see a man about a horse!” Without waiting for anyone to respond, Drakken made a beeline for the room’s self contained bathroom and quickly shut the door. He hesitated to lock it in fear that that might alert their personal guard and paused, turning to stare at said door as if it would any minute burst open with black suits everywhere and guns blazing. However, the bearded guy must at least have some sense of decorum because after a minute had gone, it appeared the Doctor was not to be disturbed. He clasped his hands. “BRILLIANT! …..OH, FFFFFF!!!” He smacked a hand over his mouth when he realized he'd said that aloud. 

Having heard his cousin’s exclamation (as had everyone else), Royce face-palmed and gave a withering sigh. Did Drakken have any sense of stealth? “My apologies,” he said, regarding the bearded guard. “...Drakken has a tendency talk to himself at the most inopportune times….”

“It iz said,” The Professor replied. “...zat a man does his best thinking while on ze throne.”

Audrey rolled her eyes and the guard made a face, but chose to remain mum on the subject.

Meanwhile Drakken sat in darkness on the toilet seat and projected his thoughts as he knew they would. ‘ _Alright Candlejack!!! You’d better get your ass here NOW so help me- I will NOT be held responsible for the violence I’m about to incur!!!!_ ’

**\- o - o - o -**

What a funny feeling it was, to be struck with the realization that regardless of the immense power bestowed to him by the internet, Roddy MacStew was utterly powerless against the threat of Global Justice. The Government had a way of ruining the lives of anyone, whether they be human or mutant that opposed their objectives. This fact did not sit well with Roddy- knowing that there was a fine balance between cooperation and rebellion. Nothing short of violence and breaking several laws in the process could solve his dilemma and despite how desperate he was, Roddy considered himself a fair law-abiding man and at most times, completely rational. But now wasn't the time he felt particularly, even minutely rational— not with two days of endless drama and emotional turmoil topped off on no sleep with little to eat, shitty hospital coffee, and the funkiness one could only feel after being deprived of a much deserved shower. No, this was a time for drastic measures.

Irritated by his ill-advised arrest, Roddy hotly regarded the woman standing in front of him, deciding right then and there, that Dr. Betty Director was at the very top of his shit list. His frown deepened as he seethed, squeezing the armrests of the chair in which he sat. The wood creaked in protest, threatening to break beneath the extraordinary force of his grip as he considered how he should respond in order to demonstrate just how epically pissed off he was. The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled as he felt the distinctive preternatural charge of electricity rising up from within the tempest of his barely concealed rage. 

There must have been something dangerous flashing in the Scotsman’s eyes because one of the men in dark suits showed up and pulled a pistol from his coat. Roddy’s hair fluttered from the stirring of his own aura, eyes bleeding white as he coldly refused to acknowledge the sensation of the handgun’s barrel pressing into his temple. He maintained his furiously unintended staring contest with the Director standing before him and it was by the grace of that very person’s quickly upraised hand that prompted the suited man to freeze and slowly lower his gun before ultimately retreating to whatever rock he’d been hiding under moments before. It hardly mattered to Roddy- however, the one thing that did, was just how close he was to completely losing his temper and if that were to occur, the consequences of his actions would surely prove disastrous. Loss of control would only result in the very reason that brought him here in the first place and he refused to prove that silly woman’s assumption that he was as dangerous as the Scotsman knew he really was. He had to make an example of himself! 

‘ _For the lad’s sake!_ ’ his thoughts cried.

Roddy shuddered at the surge of emotion that his thoughts of Freakazoid brought and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, quelling his powers as he inhaled steadily through his nose then repeated the breathing exercise for several minutes until his heart rate had sufficiently calmed. When he was sure that he was no longer at risk of exploding, Roddy slowly opened his eyes, which had thankfully returned to their normal blue color and returned his gaze to Dr. Director.

“I surmised that you’d refuse to be taken into custody,” Betty replied evenly. “…which is why I’m willing to make a deal. However...,” She paused, long enough that it made the Scotsman fidget impatiently. “There will be certain stipulations of which will require your **strict** adherence.”

Roddy grimaced as he stifled a yawn, and tiredly ran a hand over his face.‘ _Of course_ ’, he thought miserably. ‘ _If’n Global Justice has a particular goal in mind, there’s little I cannae do to dissuade ‘em, which means t’go with th’flow and manage the situation carefully until I ‘ave th’right moment t’strike with me own plan! ...Alas, it seems that time’s not on m’side, wot ‘n all with th’gimpy-eyed lass starin’ me down. Perhaps we **can** come t’some sort of agreement, one which would allow the lad and I t’ be free. However, freedom **always** has a price..._ ’ The Scotsman sighed. ‘ _If’n only I could’ave avoided this mess entirely! ...Ah, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride_ ,’ he groused. ‘ _What cannaye do?_ ’ 

It was in that moment the Scotsman recalled a recent conversation he’d had with Professor Heiney and Dr. Drakken just shortly before they’d arrived at Freakazoid’s beach house to discover he had reached critical mass. The Doctor and Professor had advised that if the Scotsman were to ever find himself in danger and in desperate need of help, there were more _supernatural_ means of escaping unnoticed. His eyes widened. ‘ _Aye!_ ’

He should have known that Dr. D and the Professor had friends in high places, particularly with the man they’d referred him to. Yes, him— that certain someone who could bypass doors, locks, walls, and move through shadows and just about anything tangible with child-like ease. Yes. The former villain-mischief-maker and legendary candle wielding boogey-man had just become his get-out-of-jail-free pass. Roddy smothered a grin behind his hand and mock yawned. ‘ _Aye, me decision’s made! However, first thing’s first_.’

With her hands on her hips, Dr. Director asked, “I assume you’re ready to hear my offer?”

“Aye.”

Betty reached into her left leg pocket and produced a small unassuming blue tooth device. “Since you’re unwilling to submit to the custody of Global Justice, I have a proposition that requires someone of your…specific expertise and this, should you accept the responsibility, will be your means of communicating with me. However, it will require the mutual aid of you and the Freak boy.”

“Nh, so what’s yer grand plan then lass?”

“Global justice has a _serious_ hacker problem.”

Roddy snorted at the irony of Betty’s statement, that after confronting him about his own infiltrations of the Global Justice cybernet that she immediately turned to asked him to defend the very thing she wanted to arrest him for. He arched a brow, eyeing her speculatively and stroked his beard, “I’m listenin’.”

“There’s a digital mercenary on the loose, breaching Global Justice security on multiple occasions, using a web of access points so complex that we’re constantly lead to dead ends. Also, this person usually goes by a variety of nicknames, the most popular being “Xander”, like the character in that Vin Diesel film. While I have my suspicions that you and Freak are somehow connected, I also have my doubts. These actions are not what I’d consider your ‘style’ – having more to do with gathering information than deleting it for the sake of protecting a certain someone’s image. These attacks are malicious, often followed by viruses- many of which no one has encountered before. It’s meant to distract us and unfortunately, it’s working.”

“So, ye want to hire me ‘an the lad to find this person?”  

Betty nodded. “While Global Justice is improving the predictability and security against these invasions, what takes us minutes to do, you and Freakzoid can achieve in an instant. That’s why I know that people like you and the Freak, having the World Wide Web and all of technology as your playground, could quickly and efficiency “seek and destroy” this hacker before the shit hits the proverbial fan. I’m embarrassed at the inefficience of Global Justice’s best hackers, thus I have no choice but to seek outside advice.”

“Th’lad and I aren’t killers,” Roddy spat. “If’n yer lookin’ for a gun for hire, then ye’ve wasted yer time. Ye should be lookin’ t’yer own guys t’do yer dirty work!”

Betty sighed and pinched her brow. “I **never** said anything about killing. It was a euphemism. I just mean to say that I need to have the hacker neutralized so my team can take him or her out and perhaps put said individual’s skills to better use. If Freakazoid would be willing to cooperate, then it’s your responsibility to make it clear to him how crucial this is and that the hacker needs to be taken care of without all his usual silly fanfare. I’d appreciate if I didn’t have a mountain’s worth of paperwork and damage control to deal with every time Freakazoid decides to play hero for a day.”

“Th’lad is in no position t’do anything. An’ while I’m grateful that ye’ve gone to th’trouble t’cover everythin’ up for our sakes as well as the sake of his family, I dinaae like it that ye assume th’lad and I should pander t’yer whims simply because ye think we should be locked away over a few blithering mistakes! I understand e’blew up, that e’s been dealin’ with a lot o’ personal crud recently but if ye haven’t checked, E’s bleedin’ YOUNG!” Roddy’s voice hitched and he stopped to wipe his stinging eyes with the back of his hand, hating how his voice quavered as he continued to speak. “Give us a chance t’make things right! We did’nae ask for all o’ this!”

“ **Must** I remind you,” Betty said sternly, “that I am here on the behest of the highest authorities to rein you in by any means necessary? You freak-types run about thinking you’re superheroes out to save mankind when all you’re really doing is causing damage and chaos, all the while, you invade government property and compromise the security of our organization all for the sake of saving face over what you consider as you so eloquently put it “a few _**blithering**_ mistakes”… And, while other factions of the government think that you and that boy are a menace to society as cyber terrorists and ought to be destroyed, **I** on the other hand, think otherwise. I have the foresight to understand that under _controlled_ circumstances, you and Freak could prove to be quite useful.” Surprisingly, the Director’s expression softened then, “As for your concern regarding Freakazoid, I have every confidence that given the time, he will make a full recovery. I’ve been told he heals quickly. Had he been human like me, he would have died instantly and his remains vaporized, so there’s a lot to be said to commend his durability and surviving this long.” 

Despite his anger, Roddy managed a smile at Betty’s sentiment, hoping with all his heart that she was right.

Without further hesitation, the Director held out the Bluetooth device for the Scotsman to take, staring at him expectantly. “Do we have ourselves a deal?”

Roddy took the device and turned it over in his hands to inspect it closely. “M’gonna need more information than a few words…”

“I suspect that digital transfers like email are the name of your game anyway so we’ll discuss it using that device later on when I know that you and Freak are up for the challenge.”

“Aye...” Roddy squinted, sensing something amiss. “One thing though…,” he trailed off, turning the Bluetooth around in the palm of his hand, eyes twinkling when he found what he was looking for. “I’ll only accept this job if ye agree t’back off and leave us alone…I’ll contact YOU when I’m ready t’negotiate further.” He pressed the round ear piece and much to Dr. Director’s chagrin, unclasped the dime sized panel to reveal a hidden microchip overlaying the speaker. He tsked as he removed the chip and held it up between two fingers and promptly fried it with a brilliant spark of his power. “NO tracing bugs!”

“How did you— Technopathy?” Betty queried.

The Scotsman, hearing the distinctive sound of a helicopter approaching the hospital’s rooftop landing pad, stood and managed to look rather smug. “...and SO much more!” He held out his hand to her and she in turn placed her hand in his to shake on their agreement.

Afterward, Dr. Director took a step back and realized he’d slipped the fried chip in the palm of her hand. She huffed and shook her head, “Sometimes, you fucking freaks make this shit look so easy... at times I envy your abilities, if only a little. What makes it worse is that I’m looking at a man who’s supposed to be fifty three and you’ve regressed to the physical age of someone in his thirties. But I suppose that’s contributed to your healing factor. ...I know many people who’d kill to turn back the hands of time.”

“As a wiseman once said,” Roddy sagely replied. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

“And you read too many comic books,” the Director muttered.

‘ _ **CRUD!** She’s dawdling!!!_ ’ Roddy laughed out loud then, all the while his panicked thoughts reaching out elsewhere to a certain someone who was much closer than the Scotsman realized.

' _...By th’soiled trousers of Argus, I hope this bleedin’ works!_ ’

….

…...

‘ _ **Candlejack!!!!!**_ ’

**\- o - o - o -**

The distinctive whupping drone of helicopter rotors approached from a distance, growing increasingly louder overhead as it approached.

Shego recoiled her hand from Jack’s, blinking into awareness as her curiosity overrode her concern for the children and she moved quickly to the entrance of the parking garage and peered up at the sky. The loud thrumming sound grew louder still, the vibrations felt through the foundation of the parking garage and the bodies of the two hidden individuals observing its descent from the heavens.

Acid green sparks danced from Shego’s finely manicured fingers as her temper flared, dark lips curling down into a rigid frown as the unmarked black hawk helicopter hovered above the hospital’s rooftop landing pad. ‘ _Who’m I kidding?_ ’ She thought, ‘ _I can’t go now! I’m never one to stay out of trouble for long and besides, if Jack says the kids are fine and has his eye on ‘em, I should trust ‘im. The boys are all old enough to know better, not to mention powerful and collectively smart enough to hold their own even if something DID happen to us…_ ’ She nodded to herself to affirm her decision.

A stark white hand lightly touched the point of Shego’s left elbow and she glanced over her shoulder.

“Having second thoughts?” Jack queried softly.

Shego arched a brow and flashed an impious grin, “You know me, sometimes I worry too much about stuff, maternal instincts and all… but I’d never live it down knowing I wasn’t here. Can’t let you have all the fun, right?” She winked, which earned her a smile.

“Poor Dee,” Shego sighed. “…must be havin’ a conniption fit if he’s already yellin’ “Uncle” and asking you for help.” She pointed up at the suspicious-looking chopper, which had settled down on its skids and sat idling, waiting for something or rather, some-one.  “Where Global Justice is involved, I can only imagine things just went from bad to worse. Queen Bitch has a way with getting under everyone’s skin, particularly MINE and you and I BOTH know better than anyone that black ops don’t just land anywhere unless there’s a very good reason for it.” Her hands flexed and briefly ignited, itching to incinerate something-ANYTHING. “Count me in.”

With an amused gleam in his eye, Jack nodded, “Then it’s imperative that we get there as soon as possible.”  He drew the hood of his jacket over his head and pulled the neck of his turtle neck over the lower half of his face then stepped back into the shadows. Slowly, he bowed and extended his hand to her once more. “Shall we dance?”

Shego mock-curtseyed and settled her hand gracefully into his, “Lets.”

**\- o - o - o -**

A dark hooded figure emerged out of the darkness of the shower stall to Dr. D's left, followed by the much more recognizable figure of his wife. He stood quickly and ran to embrace her. “SHE-” 

Shego’s hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his cry then placed an ignited finger to her lips to shush him and leaned close to press those very same lips to the shell of his right ear, "You called?"

Drakken hugged her tightly and buried his face in her hair. "I’m so very glad to see you!" he murmured.

Shego smiled and whispered back, “M’here to shake things up a little while Jackie boy does what he does best."

"Mmm, it’s always more fun when you’re at my side," Drakken replied.

Shego’s chuckle was his only response as she seductively raked her nails across his shoulder blades, which never failed to make her husband shudder. “Just you wait… It’s gonna get better. Wait for me- I’ll only be a moment.” She stepped back and nodded to the hooded figure to show that it was time for his next move and in an instant both Shego and Jack were gone as swiftly as they’d arrived.

As if on cue, the lights of both the lounge that Roddy shared with Dr. Director as well as Freakazoid’s room simultaneously flickered and in that brief moment of darkness, a precisely aimed hand struck Dr. Director in the back of the head, knocking her unconscious. Meanwhile, in the room which Royce, Audrey, Drakken, and the Professor occupied, the bearded guard’s eyes rolled back and he crumpled unconscious to the floor like a rag doll.

With mutual exclamations of relief, the Professor, Audrey, and Royce all recognized this as a sign that their friend, the renowned shadow lurking boogey-man, had arrived.

The very same hand that struck the Global Justice honcho in the neck ignited with an eerie green energy, illuminating Shego’s lithe figure as she moved swiftly to the door to solder the door jam to temporarily prevent the large men in suits from entering. There were several muffled shouts of alarm from the other side of the door, but Shego paid them no heed as she turned to regard the startled Scotsman. “Always wanted to do that,” she said as she seized Roddy by the shirt and pulled him forward into a yawning dark portal where Jack awaited them at Freakazoid’s bedside. Shego then released the Scotsman and made quick work of the door the same as she’d done in the lounge where Dr. Director resided.

Unused to Jack’s particular form of travel, Roddy would have fallen had he not been caught by a large set of blue hands belonging to Royce.

“It’s always disorienting the first few times,” Royce chuckled as he steadied the Scotsman.

“Aye,” Roddy muttered. He looked around and sighed with relief when he realized he was back with the others.

The Professor quickly silenced any of the alarms on Freakazoid’s life preserving machinery to avoid detection and turned as Drakken promptly exited the bathroom, walked over to the unconscious man and kicked him. “OH ho ho HO! Zippity-do-dah-DAY! Monitored so closely to hear us fart, eh?” he snorted, kicking the man again, “Pathetic!”

Jack lowered his hood and gingerly placed his hand on the young hero’s bandaged right hand. He sighed, sensing the calamity of thoughts and grief within Freakazoid’s mind. “We mustn’t tarry,” he said to the others. “We have minutes to spare, if that.”

“Ze lab!” Professor Heiney shouted. “Ve must take him zere to be treated!”

“Yes!” Drakken agreed. “The facility that Roland and I built possesses everything we need to treat Freakazoid until he’s well again!”

Jack smirked, donning his hood again. “Then that settles it. Gather ‘round me everyone.”

Royce, Audrey, Shego, Drakken, Roddy, and Professor Heiney did as instructed, each moving to stand closely around the boogey man, waiting for him to do what he did so very well. 

The Lights flickered for a second time that morning and in a flash, the occupants of the room, Freakazoid, the bed in which he occupied as well as the machinery attached to him had disappeared entirely, all except for the chairs. 

At the very same time the door to the lounge exploded open from the brunt of several men shouldering their weight against it, Dr. Betty Director roused from unconsciousness. Her head spun and she felt nauseous and just as she realized she was suffering from a concussion, she felt many hands help her to her feet. She muttered he thanks, shrugged them off and dazedly tapped the com-link in her hear. “Angent S, report,” she said slowly.

No response.

“Agent S!”

Agent L, the large man who’d previously pulled a gun on Roddy spoke up. “He’s unconscious, Sir. It seems that Freakazoid and his friends have all disappeared.”

The Global Justice honcho surveyed the room, noticing the absence of a certain blue skinned Scotsman. “Was it MacStew?”

“Negative, Sir. I believe it was a mutual effort. He had outside help.”

“So it seems,” the Director muttered, rubbing the back of her aching neck. “Nevermind then! Clean up and move out, I’ve some calls to make.”

“S-Sir?”

“Did I stutter? I SAID FALL OUT! That’s an order, soldier!” 

Agent L and many of his comrades snapped to attention, saluted, then went at ease and disappeared to do their respective tasks.

“And get me a fucking aspirin!” 

**…To Be Continued….**

**\- o - o - o -**

**Author’s Notes:**

****** This chapter was inspired by Linkin Park’s – Living Things - “Castle of Glass” as well as the remixed version of “Castle of Glass” by Linkin Park’s very own Mike Shinoda, which was recently released on their newest Recharged album on Tuesday, 10/29/13.

 ****** When Drakken says “I need to see a man about a horse” is an old fashioned term often used in my family as I grew up and it actually means something. In the urban dictionary, it’s defined as “any general business that needs attending to that you may not care to discuss with the present party” or in other words “a discreet way of excusing yourself to the restroom”. …I’m not entirely sure if everyone knew what that meant so I figured I should at least explain myself to those who didn’t know. 

****** Oftentimes, when you’re in a military situation, whether your commander is male or female, a high ranking woman like Dr. Betty Director is still called “Sir”.

 ****** As you can tell, one of Candlejack’s main abilities is using shadows as a means of transport to anywhere he pleases. Also, he is a telepathic/telekinetic of the highest order (think Charles Xavier and you’ve nailed it) – There’s a long list of other things he’s capable of but that will be revealed as time goes on. 

If anyone hasn’t already noticed, Jack is also an albino and while he has a healing factor and has been known to cheat death numerous times, he still despises sun light and tends to keep himself covered 100% of the time. Jack is also very short – like Michael J. Fox short, 5’4”, which is only an inch taller than me when I’m barefooted. So, you can imagine that compared to everyone else that has shown up in the story so far, he’s the shortest. However, considering he’s had several hundred years to deal with his physical inadequacies, Jack takes it in stride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: 
> 
> ** This chapter was inspired by Linkin Park’s – Living Things - “Castle of Glass” as well as the remixed version of “Castle of Glass” by Linkin Park’s very own Mike Shinoda, which was recently released on their newest Recharged album on Tuesday, 10/29/13.
> 
> ** When Drakken says “I need to see a man about a horse” is an old fashioned term often used in my family as I grew up and it actually means something. In the urban dictionary, it’s defined as “any general business that needs attending to that you may not care to discuss with the present party” or in other words “a discreet way of excusing yourself to the restroom”. …I’m not entirely sure if everyone knew what that meant so I figured I should at least explain myself to those who didn’t know. 
> 
> ** Oftentimes, when you’re in a military situation, whether your commander is male or female, a high ranking woman like Dr. Betty Director is still called “Sir”.
> 
> ** As you can tell, one of Candlejack’s main abilities is using shadows as a means of transport to anywhere he pleases. Also, he is a telepathic/telekinetic of the highest order (think Charles Xavier and you’ve nailed it) – There’s a long list of other things he’s capable of but that will be revealed as time goes on. 
> 
> If anyone hasn’t already noticed, Jack is also an albino and while he has a healing factor and has been known to cheat death numerous times, he still despises sun light and tends to keep himself covered 100% of the time. Jack is also very short – like Michael J. Fox short, 5’4”, which is only an inch taller than me when I’m barefooted. So, you can imagine that compared to everyone else that has shown up in the story so far, he’s the shortest. However, considering he’s had several hundred years to deal with his physical inadequacies, Jack takes it in stride.


	13. Chapter 12: Lies, Greed, Misery, VICTIMIZED!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited by yours truly with help from her one-and-only, Arcanix Soulstar.
> 
> Disclaimers / Warnings:
> 
> Warning: Heavy use of profanity. Duncan has a potty mouth and likes to throw a lot of “F-Bombs”. So don’t be surprised if you see a lot of swearing. That’s just who he is. 'nuff said.
> 
> Integration & my original characters: Morgan Douglas, Vanessa Green, Aaron Mumphries, Dante and Seth Lipsky (Drakken & Shego’s twins) © Me
> 
> Kim Possible © Disney
> 
> Freakazoid!, Dexter Douglas, Mr. & Mrs. Douglas, Cosgrove, Duncan Douglas, Waylon Jeepers, Arms Akimbo, Vorn the Unspeakable © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks
> 
> "Lies Greed Misery” & “Victimized” © Linkin Park

**Integration**

Chapter 12

“Lies, Greed, Misery, Victimized!”

The day following his brother’s twenty-seventh birthday and subsequent “death”, Duncan Douglas booked the earliest flight to New York City’s LaGuardia Airport. He had plans to participate in the first trials of the UFC and without even saying good-bye, fled his parents’ home. He absolutely refused to play the role of supporting his family’s grief, knowing full well that the News reports of Freakazoid’s critical condition and Dexter’s passing was greatly exaggerated. It was all a load of bull-shit and everyone was just too stupid to realize it yet! So long that Freakazoid lived so did Dexter a fact which Duncan made quite clear to his mother and father before he left. Whatever they wanted to think was completely up to them. He was just too livid to even think straight and the fact that his head was in a fog from the pain killers for his busted nose certainly didn’t help his situation any!

Regardless of Duncan’s anger regarding Dexter, Mrs. Douglas was hopeful, that through the tears and overwhelming sorrow, she screamed something about beating the truth out of some cop named Cosgrove before locking herself in her bedroom to compose herself.  
Mr. Douglas however, seemed utterly helpless, pacing the house and muttering some nonsense or other about it all being a bad dream and how it’ll all be okay in a day or so. Dexter would call them soon to laugh and say it was all just some big misunderstanding!

Oh, how it filled Duncan with such furious anger, that after all these years, Dexter still insisted on maintaining his foolish charade! Freakazoid be damned!! No matter, Duncan refused to participate in any of all the senseless drama and tears other than to exact his revenge on the Freak who was responsible for all of his problems. 

‘ _Dexterrrrr_ ,’ Duncan’s thoughts snarled, recalling the vicious message he’d left on his voicemail. ‘ _YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ DISGRACE, A GAWDDAMN FREAK OF NATURE! YOU KNOW WHAT PEOPLE DO WITH FREAKS LIKE YOU, HUH? THEY GET RID OF 'EM! SO DON'T THINK THIS IS OVER! NOT BY A LONG SHOT! NO MATTER HOW LONG IT TAKES, I'M GONNA HUNT YOUR BLUE ASS DOWN 'AN WHEN I FIND YOU, I **WILL** KILL YOU!_ ’

Duncan abruptly bumped into something solid and found a ludicrously tall man in a navy blue trench coat and fedora blocking his path to the baggage claim. Had it not been for the sign he held with ‘Duncan Douglas’ written in bold black letters, Duncan would have simply shouted a ‘watch where you’re goin’ moron!’ and stepped around him. However, the fact that he hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting for him aroused his curiosity and he stopped. 

Duncan regarded the shady-looking stranger with a glare that might have been intimidating had it not been for his bandaged nose and two black eyes. The effect made him look quite silly but the stranger seemed to take pity on him and said nothing.

Unfazed by Duncan’s feeble attempt to appear threatening, the man in the trench coat returned the glare, red eyes glittering from behind a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses as he leaned forward to flaunt his considerable height. Something snake-like twitched beneath the heavy scarf that masked the lower half of the stranger’s face. 

The oddness of whatever the slithering ‘thing’ was seemed ominously out of place in congruence to where Duncan assumed his mouth should be and he took a step back with wide eyes. “The Fuck’re YOU?!” He cried.

The stranger’s eyes glowed brighter as he chuckled in a deep gravelly voice that sounded ancient from disuse. “I am **Vorn** the **unspeakable**! The **skulls** of those who defy me **bleach** in the suns of a **hundred** worlds!” he squinted, lowering his sunglasses a bit to lean precariously closer to Duncan to study him, “…And you aaare?”

‘ _Vorn the unspeakable?_ ’ Duncan could feel the aggravating tick in his left eye acting up. ‘ _Where have I heard that name before?_ ’ The memory eluded him and he straightened his posture in order to prove that even if the guy scared him, Duncan refused to give him that satisfaction. ‘ _Who t’fuck names their kid VORN anyway? Crazy people, that’s who, ‘an what’s the meaning of this Vorn-guy asking me who I am when the trench coat-wearin’ Dick Tracy wannabe is the one who had the fucking sign with my name on it in the first place?!_ ’ Duncan rolled his eyes and made a sour face. ‘ _I’m startin’ to wonder if everyone I know is into the cosplay scene these days, so this guy in the strange getup thinks he’s bein’ funny!_ ’ 

“Uh, gee, lemme’ think,” Duncan muttered sarcastically as he prodded Vorn in the chest with two fingers. “Are you fuggin’ retarted or somethin’?  You’re the snake -faced wierdo holdin’ the sign with my name on it, so I guess that means I’m Duncan Douglas!  OH, but I guess since you asked **me** who I am, you **can’t** fuckin’ **read**! SO if that’s all you gotta say, VORN, then get the hell outta my way and leave. Me. ALONE!” Grumbling profanities under his breath, Duncan shoved past Vorn and had taken all of two steps toward the baggage claim before a large gloved hand seized his shoulder like a vice and effectively halted him in his tracks.

“Ah, a smart aleck, eh?”

The force of Vorn’s clawed grip made Duncan’s blood run cold and he slowly turned back to face the guy  who had tossed the sign to the floor then pulled Duncan to restrain him with arm as thick as a log around his shoulders. He gave Duncan a cursory squeeze, just enough to make it almost impossible to breathe. “Where d’you think YOU’RE goin’, huh? We haven’t finished talking yet.”

“N-nowhere,” Duncan wheezed.

“Heh! I LIKE you!” chuckled Vorn. “No wonder the boss thinks you’re worth the time!”

Duncan shifted about in a vain attempt to escape the touchy bastard’s grasp. Alas, further struggles proved fruitless. This guy was seriously starting to creep him out! He shivered with the sudden realization. ‘ _Wait, did he mention havin’ a boss?_ ’ Okay, something wasn’t right here.

“B-Boss?”

Vorn rumbled his assent and gratefully slackened his grip to allow Duncan a precious moment to breathe again before the human passed out. “I’ll set you loose so long as you’re not going to try running away again.  Kapeesh?”

Duncan nodded. 

“Good. Was afraid I’d have to pursue you- ‘Nnn then I’d have to **EAT** you! ...and that would NOT be a pretty sight—NOPE!”

Duncan nodded again, frozen to the spot and unsure as to why he was so frightened all the sudden. One moment he was his ordinary self and in an instant he felt like a simpering little school girl with her panties in a twist. This guy surely meant business, but still. ‘ _What gives and what’d he mean by EAT ME? Was that just a metaphor or is he actually some kind of real life Hannibal Lecter?_ ’ He grimaced. ‘ _…don’t wanna test that theory._ ’ 

As if sensing Duncan’s unspoken concern, Vorn replied, “I possess the ability to instill fear into my vict- those who **frustrate** me… That would be you with that mouth of yours, which could get you into a world of trouble if you don’t learn to silence yourself. So, heed my warning and beware of the things you shout to those who could crush you, little one.”

Duncan balked, “L-LITTLE ONE?!” His face grew hot and he clenched his jaw, temporarily forgetting his predicament as something white hot flared to life beneath his sternum. “HOW FU—”

Vorn’s hand clamped over Duncan’s mouth to silence his tirade. “Nah- ah ahhh,” he rasped. “Having fits in airports makes people nervous since that whole nine-eleven thing a few years ago... It would be most unwise to attract unwanted attention, unless of course you enjoy jail time, hm?” 

Duncan’s temper fizzled out as quickly as it had begun and he nodded begrudgingly. He had a clean record and if he were to end up in jail- that would mean game over for a lot of reasons, the most important of which being that he’d never see his d-… Duncan stopped himself before he could continue that train of thought. ‘ _No! I’ve come too far! I only need a bit more time!_ ’ He sagged helplessly and looked up to meet the red eyed gaze of Vorn. 

“The fuck you want with me?”

“My boss of considerable influence is interested in employing your services.”

Duncan stubbornly crossed his arms. “I already got a job!”

Vorn raised a single finger. “Ah! But it doesn’t pay nearly as well as the job I’m offering you now!”

“How much?”

Vorn’s eyes narrowed, the deep red of his irises glaring so deeply that Duncan could have sworn the guy could see straight into his soul. “More than you can afford now to support…” He lowered his voice a few octaves, forcing Duncan to strain to hear him. “…your little recreational habit!”

Duncan paled and had it not been for Vorn’s finger beneath Duncan’s chin, his jaw would have hit the floor.  “H-how did you…?!”

“There are very few things that I don’t know about you, Duncan Douglas…,” Vorn rumbled lowly. “…and now that you understand the sincerity of my resolve to employ you by any means necessary, perhaps we should continue this little discussion elsewhere, hmmmmm?”

Feeling thoroughly chastened Duncan stared at his shoes and said nothing.

“That’a BOY!” Vorn gave Duncan a sound slap on the back, making him stumble and the air whoosh forcefully from his lungs. “Oh! My bad!” He steadied the young human. “Don’t know my own strength!”

Duncan shifted as far away from Vorn as possible before taking a cursory glance over his shoulder to see if his bag had arrived.

“Ah, yes,” said Vorn, pointing to a mustachioed man in a forest green suit and matching fedora that had just bent over the baggage claim conveyor belt to scoop Duncan’s army surplus rucksack into the crook of an abnormally over-extended elbow. “My good friend Arms Akimbo has already taken care of claiming your belongings…”

Duncan froze and stared- just, stared. He knew that guy with the moustache and the hat and those fucking weird ass elbows. ‘ _ **FUCK!**_ ’ his thoughts bellowed, panic setting in. ‘ _FUCK FUCK **FFFFFUUUUUUUCK!** THAT GUY’S A FUCKIN’ EXTORTIONIST MOBSTER! THAT’S IT! I’VE BEEN HAD BY THE FUCKIN’ MOB!_ ’ Unable to prevent himself from trembling, he chose to remain silent and pressed his lips firmly together, refusing to voice the tumult of thoughts. 

“Now now,” chided Vorn, waggling a finger in Duncan’s face. “There’s NO need to Fret! Mister Arms is a handy fellow and my boss pays him well enough to maintain his loyalty. SO there’s no need to fear that he’ll shank you for your wallet while you sleep.”

Duncan just about died right then and there but thankfully Vorn held him up and guided him stiffly outside to where a sleek black limousine awaited them at the curb. 

Arms Akimbo had already loaded Duncan’s rucksack into the trunk and shut the trap before swaggering around to open the rear most passenger door for Duncan to enter. He waggled his brows and bowed. “By the look on your face, I can tell you’ve heard of me, Mister Douglas.” He winked. “Charmed! We’ll have to talk some time. However, I urge you to hurry along and take a seat. My boss is not a particularly patient man, y’see…”

Vorn ushered Duncan into the back seat, half shoving him inside as he shut the door behind him with a resounding click of the automatic lock.

Muttering a few curses and grunting at the throbbing pain in his face, Duncan gathered himself off the floor of the vehicle and slid into a seat. “I don’t suppose I have a choice...,” he said into the darkness around him.

“Mmmm’perhaps,” said a nasally voice that startled Duncan so much that his head hit the roof. 

“OW!”

“…My sincerest apologies for the cramped quarters, Mister Douglas,” said the voice.  “It’s so hard to find good vehicles tailored for everyone, what and all with the incompetence of manufacturers these days. Just mind your head and buckle up. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

As if on cue, the engine purred to life and coasted forward, prompting Duncan to fish for the nearest seatbelt as instructed lest he risk incurring the wrath of some other overpowered nut-job like ‘Vorn the Unspeakable’.

Duncan peered into the shadows, straining to make out the silhouette of a person, realizing he couldn’t quite see who it was that sat across from him so far on the front side of the limo. Just as his sight had begun to adjust, a light mounted overhead flipped on, temporarily blinding him with spots dancing across his vision. “AGH!” He cried, smacking a hand over his eyes then shouting a few more expletives at having temporarily forgotten his broken nose and bruising across his face.

The owner of the voice chuckled.

Head pounding like a drum, Duncan coughed and winced at the answering pain, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

Before him, a middle aged gray skinned midget in a pin stripe suit with slicked back salt and pepper hair, an aquiline nose, wide grin, and demonic red eyes, lounged upon the plush leather seats. 

Duncan gulped, the realization of just how deep the shit he’d gotten himself into had become. It hit him like a ton of bricks. The man known as Waylon Jeepers appeared no worse for wear than what Duncan might have expected for a man his age, though he had little to base a reference on aside from a couple of old black and white mug shots he’d seen of him in the newspapers as a teenager. This guy was a criminal and while Jeepers was not among the worst of his time earlier in life, he was certainly unique enough to never be forgotten!  

Jeepers had always boasted that he’d start a mob and no one believed him— until now. So what did that mean for Duncan? How did he play into all of this? He was just a regular guy, a professional wrestler and certified personal trainer moving up in his career, but still a regular guy nonetheless. Of course, he had his problems, just like any other average joe had to deal with— the worst of those issues being his dependence on steroids. OH, if only he didn’t need so much of it to get by! 

Though peer pressure had played a small part in the beginning, it wasn’t the only reason he’d starting using- at least that was what he tried to convince himself of. The fact of the matter was, he’d grown to love how much stronger and famous he’d become and in knowing he was strong, the fights in the professional arena got bigger. And of course, when the fights got bigger, so did the money and boy, was the fortune GREAT! But now… now he was caught, his connections effectively severed. It made him sick to his stomach or was that the beginnings of withdrawal talking?  He hung his aching head in shame, there were too many people who knew now and there was only a matter of time before it reached his family and then they'd find out he’d lied to them all! ‘ _Shit, what’m I gonna do NOW?! I’m a fuckin’ mess!_ ’

“It seems you have much to think about,” said Jeepers. 

“Evidently,” mumbled Duncan.  

“Oh, but indeed you do… and I have just the solution.” Waylon’s knuckles, adorned in ornate gold rings, clenched the base of a hauntingly familiar Jackal-headed scepter in one hand while the other hand cradled a half full glass of whiskey ‘on-the-rocks’.

Duncan flinched as if stricken, heart bouncing around in his rib cage. “What do you know?” he asked, raising his head to stare evenly at the smaller man.

“I know **everything** ,” replied Jeepers, inspecting the contents of his glass. “And I can make it alllll better.”

Duncan regarded him flatly, “Oh, REALLY?” 

“You don’t sound so sure… Never fear. Allow me to explain.”Jeepers took a cursory swig of his drink. “I’m a very rich man, Mister Douglas, possessing wealth beyond your imagining that could all be yours if you accept my offer.” He paused to be sure that he had Duncan’s attention before continuing. “While you may have led your friends and family to believe you were clean, I understand your plight. Such physical sacrifices take a toll on a man’s body…. Your choices, while ill-advised, were made for the sake of a good cause but you better than anyone, know you’re nearing the precipice of your recreational vice. Still, you’ve kept pushing, knowing that you’re slowly dying from the inside out because you need the money to support your daughter and that ungrateful gold digger of a mother... What’s her name, OH, Vanessa Green…,” He waggled his brows, “She **does** get around...”

At the mention of his little girl, the world seemed to stop as Duncan’s breathing hitched and his stomach dropped and all he felt was a deep chill to the very depth of his bones. He felt ill and if he’d bothered to eat anything recently, he might have puked. However, he simply sat very still, briefly shutting his eyes against the throbbing of his nose and the ache behind his eyes as his blood pressure hit the roof. By the knowing look in Jeepers’ eyes, it was obvious he’d struck the proverbial nail on the head, which meant that despite all of Duncan’s attempts to keep his personal life a secret, that bitch of an ex girlfriend, Vanessa hadn't kept her mouth shut or her legs closed for that matter.

“You care very much for little Morgan, don’t you?” wondered Jeepers.

Duncan nodded slowly and averted his gaze to look outside the tinted window. ' _She's my everything..._ ,' he thought with longing, wanting very much to hold and protect her from the world.

“Only seven months in age and she’s already got you wrapped around her little finger…”

Duncan tensed as images of his baby girl flashed before his eyes and then of her mother, smiling cruelly as she turned away, leaving him bereft with a terrible emptiness that he hadn’t realized was there until his child was gone. He took a deep breath, the pain of that last moment burning through him, filling him with righteous anger and he snarled, glaring daggers at the little man who dared to taunt him. “If you’ve harmed her, so help me, there will be **NOTHING** to prevent me from **ripping** out your fucking spine and **beating** you with it!”

“Temper temper,” Jeepers coolly admonished. “Pray tell. After all the trouble I’ve gone through to bring you here and offer you a job would I do a silly thing like that? A father’s love for his children is like no other…” He trailed off, seemingly lost in wistful memories before he blinked back into reality and took another sip from his glass to clear his head. “Rest assured your daughter is safe.”

The pounding in his head stopped momentarily as Duncan forced himself to relax once more. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“I know how much you struggle to support your budding little family in order to maintain your rights to visit. I sympathize, truly.” Jeepers’ gaze fell to the scepter in his hands, turning it carefully this way and that, fingers roughed with age dancing over its gilded handle to stroke the Jackal’s grinning face. “I’m prepared to give you something in exchange, something that will improve your quality of life, give you the true power you desire, and thusly make all your worries go away. You see, you and I have a similar objective, one that neither of us can complete alone.”

“Go on,” urged Duncan.

“To destroy a mutual enemy,” Jeepers spat, “That revolting brother of yours, Freakazoid!”

At the mere mention of his sibling, all the memories of recent events came rushing back to the forefront of Duncan’s mind, making him see red all over again. “The blue guy…,” he hissed, hands white-knuckling the arm rests of his seat.

“Yessss,” affirmed Jeepers, making no mention of how he already knew the identity of Dexter Douglas’ alter-ego; just simply that he’d known long enough. “For too long I’ve endured the insult of Freakazoid’s mere existence, that time and time again he bested me and as the result, nearly destroyed my life and reputation and had I lacked the patience and drive to persevere I would have!! ….” Jeepers paused, the anger and tension draining from his face and shoulders. “Well,” he sighed. “It’s a long story and best spared for another time. The point is, Duncan, I have you at last. So it seems we’re both at an advantage.” He held up the scepter, the ruby stones of the jackal’s eyes glinting with promise. “Do you know what this is?”

“Looks like something I once saw in a museum…”

“You would be correct,” said Jeepers. “The sarcophagus of a certain three thousand year old prince, Ahmon Kor-Unch, was kept on display for a time at the Washington D.C. Museum of Antiquity and it was you that broke the seal.” He arched a brow. “Is this ringing any bells?”

A dawning recognition lit Duncan’s eyes and he stared at the scepter with renewed interest. “I remember. Yeah, I thought it was all some scary act instigated by Professor Beast-head and my stupid teacher’s pet brother… You’re saying the story that professor rambled on about was true?”

“Yes,” Jeepers replied. “But that was a very long time ago and unfortunately, Ahmon was no longer the great and powerful prince that once terrorized all of Ancient Thebes. Not long after his awakening, he encountered Freakazoid and was captured, shorn of his power, and sent away to rot alone in a prison cell. I was fortunate to meet him and learn of his story and it seemed to me that he no longer had any use of the scepter’s power or the great and terrible spirit it contained.” Jeepers’ mouth curved into an eerie joker’s grin that made Duncan’s skin crawl. “SO, following my release from prison, I ended his miserable life and took what now rightfully belongs to me.” 

Waylon Jeepers was silent for a moment, his eyes briefly lowering to the scepter in his hand before regarding Duncan with penetrating glare. “Have a problem with that?”

“No!” Duncan blurted nervously. “None at all!”

Jeepers resumed smiling, set down his whiskey glass on a side table, and extended a hand to Duncan. “Good. Then we have an understanding?”

Duncan swallowed and reached to shake Jeepers’ hand. “Yes,” he stated seriously.

“Splendid. So, without further ado, my new best chum. I present you this…” Jeepers carefully laid the scepter into the outstretched hand he’d just shaken and sat back in his seat, looking smug like the cat that caught the canary. “While the spirit of Anubis is grateful for my services in freeing him from the clutches of Ahmon, he has steadfastly refused to accept any other vassal but you.”

“M-Me?” Duncan stammered.

Jeepers nodded, “It seems that Anubis recognizes you from your encounter as a young man on that fateful day in the museum and has chosen you to possess his gifts in order to fulfill your heart’s greatest desire!” He tossed a little spiral notebook to Duncan which he caught and held up to the light to inspect.

“You merely need to speak the incantation I’ve written there, word for word and the power to crush Freakazoid will finally be yours!”

Setting the notepad scrawled with what he assumed was jibberish onto his lap, Duncan stared at the scepter in his grasp, his face a myriad of determination and wonder. He seemed unsure at first, his mouth opening as if to argue its authenticity but quickly closed it in lieu of accepting that perhaps not all things could be easily explained. Yes, it seemed too good to be true, that Waylon Jeepers may very well be pulling his leg for nothing more than shits and giggles, but Duncan was too desperate and too willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. After all, for the sake of achieving phenomenal power, money, and the revenge he craved, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Everything he’d ever wanted now lay in the palms of his hands and Duncan was still too much under the influence of Jeepers’ charm to think rationally. 

He smiled ruthlessly. “When do I start?” 

**To Be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …and so, the plot thickens!!!
> 
> ** Vorn the Unspeakable made a one-time appearance in Season 2 of Freakazoid! Episode “Statuesque” – he was summoned by Waylon Jeepers using a book by the name of “How to Summon Monsters the E-Z Way”. To those who may not know, Vorn was intentionally made to resemble H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulu, so I ran with this idea and going to say that in this story, he’s the spawn of Cthulu. At the end of the episode “Statuesque” after Jeepers and Vorn are sent to prison, Jeepers mentioned that when he and Vorn get out, he wants to start a mob. So I also ran with this idea and the fact that I could include extortionist Arms Akimbo in the mob is kind of a given. Arms has a small part in the Freakazoid! show selling “opse insurance” in Season 1 Episode 10 “In Arms Way/The Cloud”.
> 
> ** Linkin Park’s song “Victimized” from their “Living Things” album heavily inspired me to write this chapter. The lyrics describe Duncan’s mood and situation very well – however, Linkin Parks “Lies Greed Misery” also expresses Duncan’s situation but mostly his thoughts and feelings regarding brother Dexter/Freakazoid.
> 
> ** The jackal headed scepter of Anubis once belonged to a character by the name of Ahmon Kor-Unch (sounds like a play on almond crunch cereal to me), but Freakazoid just calls him ‘Invisibo’ due to being invisible and Freak stated, “The name makes me happy!” (so there ya have it). Invisibo appears in Season 2 Episode 10 “Tomb of Invisibo”. The Douglas family is at the Museum of Antiquity, and of course, a day can’t go by without Dexter and Duncan getting into a fight. It just so happened to be Duncan’s hard head that broke the scarab beetle seal on the sarcophagus, which resulted In Invisibo awakening from his eternal slumber. Prior to Invisibo’s resurrection, Professor Beasthead briefly explained the origins of Ahmon Kor-Unch (this name still makes me giggle), a 3000 year old prince who wielded the scepter of Anubis in order to terrorize the people of Thebes with the power to become invisible (just watch the episode, it’s both informative and funny). While invisibility is fun and all, I don’t think that’s the only thing the scepter is capable of bestowing (In my opinion, what powers you get depends on the user)… I’m assuming that Ahmon was a power-hungry dingbat who had little actual comprehension of the scepter’s true purpose or why Anubis, God of death and embalming would limit Ahmon’s power to being JUST invisibility (and some minor levitation). There may or may not be invisibility for Duncan… I’ve got VERY different ideas for him and in order to do that I’d rather just reinvent the scepter’s origins as I go further into writing this tale.
> 
> …Not much else to say otherwise I’d just end up spoiling it for you….


	14. Chapter 13: Where?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers/Warnings:
> 
> Warning: Duncan is a short-fused jerk who has a potty mouth and likes to throw a lot of "F-bombs". So don't be surprised when you see a lot of swearing. That's just who he is. 'nuff said.
> 
> Integration & my original characters: Morgan Douglas, Vanessa Green, Aaron Mumphries, Dante and Seth Lipsky (Drakken & Shego’s twins) © Me
> 
> Kim Possible Cartoon / Monty Fiske, Dr. Drakken, Shego, Global Justice © Disney
> 
> Freakazoid! Cartoon / Freakazoid, Dexter Douglas, Mr. & Mrs. Douglas, Cosgrove, Duncan Douglas, Professor Heiney © Warner Bros & Stephen Spielberg, John McCann, Paul Rugg, and all the staff of dreamworks
> 
> (musical inspiration for this chapter)  
> “Where” © Ultraspank

**Intregration**

Chapter 13

“Where?”

In the early morning hours that followed Freakazoid’s disappearance from the Hospital in La Jolla, California, the sun was nearing its zenith on the East Coast at the Douglas family household in Washington, D.C. However, the time of day hardly seemed to matter to Mr. and Mrs. Douglas because neither had slept very well as the result of an altercation between their sons two days before. 

_On the morning of Dexter’s twenty-seventh birthday, Duncan, the eldest brother, had instigated a knock-down-drag-out fight with Dexter, who in an act of defense gave Duncan a ticket to the emergency room by breaking his nose._

_In an unexpected twist, Dexter then revealed to his mother that he was the renowned superhero, Freakazoid. She stood there in stunned silence, her mind spinning as she took in the strange, blue, and crazy-haired person her son had become. Just how and when he had changed so suddenly without her notice was a little beyond her comprehension, but before she even had a chance to voice the burgeoning questions she yearned to ask, Dexter started for the front door to leave._

_Oh, how Mrs. Douglas wished her son would stay and help her make sense of everything that had happened. Desperately, she said, “I wish you wouldn’t go. We can fix this!”_

_Her eyes were drawn to the ring of purple bruising around Dexter’s –er- Freakazoid’s neck as he looked at her sadly, his head shaking slowly as he turned away and said, “You know it’s not that easy when it concerns Duncan.”_

_She reached a shaking hand to stop him and he pulled her into his arms, telling her he had to go, but that he’d return- for how long, she’d never know. Sadly, with blurring vision, she watched, helpless against stopping him as her little boy threw himself into the back seat of a car she recognized as belonging to Cosgrove._

_She waved weakly in greeting, but neither the retired Inspector nor his passenger, who looked a lot like Dexter’s old driving instructor, Roddy MacStew, seemed to notice her as the vehicle pulled away to whisk Dexter from her life for a second time too soon. The first time he’d left was to go off to college and it had nearly taken a decade from then before he acquiesced to return home, making her wonder._

_‘Will this time be forever?’_

_Long after Dexter had gone, Mr. Douglas finally returned with Duncan from the emergency room and Mrs. Douglas filled them in on what had happened in their absence._

_Duncan, who had had earlier suspicions of his brother’s alter ego as ‘the blue guy’, was more upset about the fact that his brother had run away “like a coward”, than he was about his mother’s lack of ‘freaking out’ over discovering who Dexter actually was. He turned to his mother disapprovingly, accusing her of not trying hard enough to stop him and demanded to know where she thought the “stupid freak” might have gone. Considering that Duncan’s recent behavior was less than exemplary, his comments were simply adding insult to injury and earned his mother’s withering glare._

_Tight lipped and too angry at Duncan for losing his temper and saying such hurtful things, Mrs. Douglas spun on her heel, marched to the master bedroom, and locked the door behind her._

_Misunderstanding his mother’s failure to respond as a lack of concern for his injury or his feelings, Duncan was understandably livid and had he not been so disoriented from the painkillers he'd taken, he would have left right then and there in much of the same manner as his brother. Fortunately, his father was able to coax him into calming down and walked him up the stairs to his old room where he was instructed to lay down and take a nap._

_Despite the illusion of peace that momentarily lapsed over the Douglas family home, Mrs. Douglas’s thoughts were in turmoil as she laid weeping upon her bed. She silently cursed her lack of foresight for not sensing Dexter’s distress or that she had so little power to calm Duncan’s rage- rage that seemed to have no end. If only she could have been a better mother earlier in their lives, her sons might not have become so troubled in their adulthood._

_As teenagers, Duncan and Dexter were prone to wrestling around more often, but rather than doing anything about it, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas had unconsciously encouraged the behavior through the open expression of their amusement. Worse still, the parents chalked it up to crazy hormones, angst, small lapses in sanity, and all the other silly stereotypical things that teenagers experienced. However, as time passed, it was clear that the rivalry between Dexter and Duncan was something they’d never grow out of, at least not without some kind of intervention. They could barely tolerate one another in close proximity for more than a moment before another fight broke out, mostly beginning with Duncan throwing one of his famous arm punches, which rapidly escalated in violence._

_If only Mrs. Douglas had known that the differences between her boys would become such a point of contention, she would’ve put her foot down and stopped the fights for good. Heck, they might’ve come to respect her more for it. Alas, with a bitter taste in her mouth, Mrs. Douglas realized that all the hopes and tears in the world could never mend her broken family._

_When the sun finally set on a day that was supposed to have been spent celebrating Dexter’s birth, Mrs. Douglas still hadn’t moved from the bed. She vaguely recalled lifting her head from her pillow at the hushed sound of her husband’s voice at the door, saying Duncan was ordering Chinese food and if she wanted anything. When she didn’t respond, she heard the muffled sound of Duncan’s protest as his father ushered him to the living room, telling him to leave his mother in peace._

_At a much later point in the night, Mrs. Douglas had unlocked the door so her husband could join her in bed. However, other than entering to brush his teeth, he must have spent the night out in the living room on his favorite recliner because when she swept her arm over his side of the bed, the comforter remained undisturbed._

_The following day, Mrs. Douglas still hadn’t left her room. She lacked the motivation to do anything and other than a scone and cup of tea obligingly provided by her husband, she had not eaten and rose only to shower and relieve herself as needed._

_When nightfall came and her husband had still not come to bed, Mrs. Douglas finally began to feel restless. So, in the wee hours of the morning of Friday, September 3rd, Mrs. Douglas emerged from her solitary confinement at last. Admittedly, she was hesitant and a little fearful of the mess she might find throughout the house after having left it unmonitored and at the mercy of men for so long, but the pang of hunger drove her inexorably toward the kitchen. Much to her shock, instead of a messy house, everything was unbelievably spic ‘n span. However, the most memorable part of her morning was finding her husband standing in the dimly lit kitchen._

_Mr. Douglas was bare footed in his grey-blue plaid flannel pajamas and leaning against the counter where the coffee maker had just begun percolating. Cast in the light of the lone overhead stove light, the poor soul looked tired, what and all with the bags under his eyes, his glasses sitting lopsided on his nose, gray disheveled hair, and the two days of stubble on his face. Despite his obvious exhaustion though, Mr. Douglas smiled at seeing his wife of forty plus years appear, swaddled up in her warmest robe and slippers to stave the early morning chill. He pushed away from the counter and crossed his arms, silently shaking his head and tsking as if to scold her for making him wait so long._

_‘It’s charming,’ Mrs. Douglas thought, ‘...how he always seems to know when I need comfort, even when I haven’t said anything at all. He just- knows…’_

_Perhaps it was the way he tilted his head a bit to the side, brows furrowed with concern to display the open honesty in his face with the gentlest of smiles or maybe it was the depth of the emotion that lay in his eyes like open windows to the soul, reflecting her own feelings of sadness and doubt. It was hard to tell, really, even after being married for so long, there were still little nuances in her husband’s behavior that often took her by surprise. In that particular moment, it was the power of his gaze and the softness of his voice when he said her name “Deborah…” that undid her._

_“Oooh Doug…,” she sighed before she promptly lost her composure and fell into her husband’s open arms to press her face into his broad chest. She wept like she hadn’t wept in years, nuzzling her body closer into his warmth as his arms closed around her and his fingers combed through the soft red curls of her hair._

_The weary couple wished that heartfelt moment could have gone on forever, but time, like all things, must pass, and they struggled to ease their troubled minds by quietly resuming the routine of their day-to-day habits. However, due to the nature of how their son Dexter had departed and his ominous lack of communication, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas were decidedly apprehensive._

_Then, when the Douglas’ could stand it no longer, the silence was shattered that fateful Friday morning, when breaking news from La Jolla, California, reached their television to report that in a horrible accident, Apex Software Conglomerate Vice President, Dexter Douglas, was alleged to have died, to which Mr. Douglas nearly had a heart attack and his wife promptly fainted._

_It had taken close to a minute for Mrs. Douglas to rouse and regain her senses and by then, Duncan had raced down the stairs to find his father failing miserably to calm his mother, who was in complete hysterics._

_“ **HE’S DEAD!** ” she screamed. “ **HE’S DEAD! OH GOD! OH GOOOOOD! MY BABY IS DEEEEEAAAAD!** ”_

_Spurred into a wild fit of rage, Duncan startled the living daylights out of his father when he grabbed his mother up off the floor by the waist as if she weighed nothing, carried her over to the couch, and sat her unceremoniously down. “WHAT. THE. **FUCK.** IS **WRONG WITH YOU?!** ” He dropped to his knees to stare her levelly in the face and bellowed. “HE AIN’T DEAD, YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME?” _

_To demonstrate his frustration, he seized his mother’s shoulders and shook her, wanting nothing more than to snap her out of the crazed-panic attack she gotten herself into. “DON’T YOU DARE BELIEVE THEIR MOTHERFUCKING LIES!” He said bitterly and shook her again._

_She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, too stunned and lightheaded from hyperventilating to respond to the force of her son’s anger or the venom in his voice._

_“YOU HEARIN’ THAT FUCKING NEWS AT ALL GODDAMMIT?! THE FUCKING FREAK BASTARD IS HIM- THAT STUPID ASSHOLE DEXTER OR HAVE YOU **FORGOTTEN** WHAT HE DID TO MY FUCKIN’ **NOSE**? THAT FREAK FUCKER BASHED MY FACE IN, BUT SO-FUCKING-WHAT, **RIGHT**?! **YOU DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT ME!** ALL YOU’VE **EVER** CARED ABOUT IS FUCKING **WIMPY LITTLE DEXTER** , BUT HE’S STILL ALIVE AND IF YOU THINK FOR ONE MINUTE I’M GONNA SIT HERE AND EAT UP THIS DEXTER’S DEAD BULLSHIT THEY’RE FEEDING YOU!!? IT’S ALL A GAME TO HIM! THAT BLUE FREAK OF NATURE IS STILL ALIVE AND LAUGHING AT EVERYTHING, LAUGHING AT ME, LAUGHING AT YOU FOR SCREWING YOU OV-” _

_The resounding smack of his wife’s hand striking Duncan’s face made Mr. Douglas snap out of his stupor. “Land sakes alive!” he exclaimed as he reached to pull Duncan away and box his ears, but was forced to a grinding halt by his wife’s angry shout._

_“GET OUT!” she screeched at Duncan, her beautiful face twisted with fury and anguish._

_Duncan, who was already kind of a mess due to the busted nose and all the bruising around his eyes, was now sporting the vibrant addition of his mother’s left handprint across the right side of his face. Having lost his balance and slipped to his butt, he turned his head back from being whipped to the side to stare up at her. He seemed to deflate before his parents’ very eyes as the proverbial winds were blown from his sails. He blinked, looking around him as if he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there or why his mother looked more furious than he had ever seen her._

_“GET. **OUT**!” she repeated, her voice cracking as she broke down, making Duncan wince as her delicate frame was wracked with inconsolable sobs. Thoroughly chastened, he quickly got to his feet and like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, wordlessly clamored up the stairs two steps at a time to his old room. From there he used his cell phone to hail a cab and without even acknowledging his mother’s keening wails or pausing to listen to his father shushing softly into her hair as he held her, Duncan stuffed all his things into his rucksack, raced back down the stairs, and was out of the house and out of his parents’ lives with a cursory slam of the door._

Mrs. Douglas froze with a jolt as the painful thoughts of her recent past were interrupted by the gravelly sound of a car pulling into the driveway. She muted the news report she had been watching on the television and bolted from the couch to the large window facing the front lawn. She peered anxiously through a crack in the blinds, desperately hoping that her son Dexter had somehow returned unscathed, only to be disappointed when she discovered a black Escalade with tinted windows parked next to her husband’s white Volvo. She squinted as a tall, dark haired, impeccably dressed forty-something man with a long face, aquiline nose, simian-like ears, and a close cropped beard, emerged from the driver’s seat.

Mrs. Douglas’s heart began to race as she worried over the implications of why a man in a suit and sunglasses, who looked suspiciously like a character that had just stepped off the set of the _Men In Black_ movie, was now approaching her front door. She moved away from the window, feeling sick as the heavy sense of dread settled low in her stomach. Why was that person here? It might have had something to do with the horrible accident the news anchors were rambling about, where a beach house in La Jolla, California, had been blown to kingdom come. The media was so quick to assume that her boy had perished because his ‘remains’ had yet to be found while Freakazoid, who had just _happened_ to be there, was alive, but in critical condition.

Mrs. Douglas shivered and hugged herself to stave the chilling sensation of goose bumps prickling her arms. “He can’t be gone,” she quietly reasoned. 

Considering the fact that Dexter had recently revealed his superhero identity to her on the morning of his birthday, she may not have understood how he became superhuman very well, but at least she knew the truth at last. However, due to the outrageous hullabaloo that the media was stirring up, it also made her wonder; what caused the house, which her son apparently owned, to blow up in the first place? Was Dexter or Freakazoid, possibly both, the target of a terrorist? Was Dexter responsible for it himself like a science experiment gone wrong? 

There were also the questions Mrs. Douglas at least partially knew the answers to. Why did Freakazoid disappear without a trace nearly ten years ago? (The demands of college and career life were to blame). Why, did Freakazoid suddenly reappear at Dexter’s California beach house of all places? (Both are the same person, so wherever one goes, the other follows). How in the world did a comatose Freakazoid manage to escape a hospital ICU crawling with vigilant medical staff and black ops, and then simply vanish into thin air alongside an odd assortment of his former foes? (Not entirely sure. Maybe it was ninjas?). Were they and Dexter somehow connected? (Yes, they had to be). Still, there remained so many more questions that were yet to be answered, leading speculative people across the nation to believe it was all a conspiracy, and that there had to be a connection! 

So immersed in her thoughts, Mrs. Douglas jumped with a surprised squeak at the sound of the doorbell. 

Mr. Douglas, who had dozed off in the easy chair while watching the news, awoke with a startled snort and a rattle of the newspaper that sat folded in his lap. He started to get up, but his wife had practically flown to the door and thrown it open before he’d even managed to pull himself completely to his feet. 

With one hand white-knuckling the door knob and the other clenched at her side, Mrs. Douglas blurted, “HELLO, HOW MAY I HELP YOU?!”

There was a long pause as the man in the suit observed the pale-faced red headed sixty-something woman who had answered the door in a rumpled blue house dress and slippers. “Mrs. Deborah Rose Douglas, I presume?” he asked with a distinctively British accent.

Mrs. Douglas’s sad green eyes glistened with unshed tears as she nodded. “Yes...”

With an incline of his head, the man in black regarded the tall spectacled gentleman fitting the description of Mrs. Douglas’ spouse, who appeared behind her. “And Sir, you must be Doug MacArthur Douglas?”

Mr. Douglas nodded. “Yes, I am he…” His eyes narrowed, heavy brows furrowing as he squared his jaw and stared down his nose at the stranger. “And **who** might you be?”

With a proportionately large gloved hand, the Englishman reached into his overcoat and produced a photo I.D., then held it out for the couple to inspect. “Mister and Mrs. Douglas, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Monty Fiske and I am an agent of an international government law-enforcement agency known as Global Justice.”

Debbie visibly stiffened. ‘ _The government! MEN IN BLACK!_ ’ her thoughts hissed conspiratorially. ‘ _I KNEW IT!_ ’

Doug blinked owlishly at the ID badge and scratched his brow, “Global Justice, huh?” He stifled a yawn, “Never heard of it.”

Agent Fiske returned his badge to his coat and replied, “Though that may be, Global Justice does exist, but only intervenes in such cases as the one I was sent here to speak to you both about. It’s regarding an incident your son, Dexter Lloyd Douglas, was involved in.” He presented the Douglases with a fairly recent photo of their son Dexter to prove the validity of his claim before pocketing it again.  “May I come in?” 

“Yes, of course,” Debbie tightly replied. She stepped aside to allow the agent into her home and hurriedly shut the door behind him. “Doug, go get some coffee for the nice man,” she told her husband and inattentively waved him away to the kitchen.

“What? Oh, Ah- SURE! Coming right UP, dear!” 

Without even hesitating to see if her spouse had gone, Debbie pointedly focused on the agent, who had just removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his chest pocket. Her hands clenched, aching to grab something and just- She wanted to shake something, ANYTHING, preferably the agent who likely knew all the answers to her questions. She restrained the manic urge to throttle her baby boy’s would-be captor and fisted her dress instead.  “Where is he…?” she asked in a quavering voice, face pinched and throat aching. “WHERE IS HE?!” She repeated loudly before the agent had a chance to respond.

“Mrs. Douglas,” the agent began, a little too composed for the difficult news he was about to deliver. “I regret to inform you that your son Dexter was the unfortunate casualty of a situation involving a superhu-”

“ **BULL CRAP!** ” she exploded.

Stiffening, Fiske arched a brow. “I beg your pardon?”

Due to his wife’s outburst, Doug returned to her side sans the coffee. “Worms and WEASELS!!” he declared. “I leave your side for less than five minutes and you’ve gotten yourself into such a tizzy again. Mind your apples, huh Peach-face?” He forced a smile despite the emotions that betrayed his worry and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “And mind your blood pressure… I think we’ve had just about enough excitement for one day!”

Debbie shrugged off her husband’s arm. “You HEARD me,” she hissed at the agent, stabbing a finger at him and then at the television where the news was still playing on mute. “They said he was seriously hurt!!” She sniffed, tears rolling down her face. “And he was rushed to a hospital and there were a bunch of weird people with him, people who were supposedly villains, and then YOU guys in the suits were EVERYWHERE, WHICH IS KIND OF INSANE- REALLY SUSPICIOUS, YA KNOW, SOMETHING ABOUT IT BEING A SECURITY ISSUE LIKE I HAVEN’T HEARD THE WIND BLOW BEFORE!!!”

Agent Fiske calmly regarded the distraught woman and waved his hands in a placating manner. “Mrs. Douglas, I understand that you’ve had a trying day, but I need you to please remain calm.”

“NO!” She snapped with a stamp of her foot. “I. WILL **NOT. REMAIN. CALM**! I’M HIS FRIGGIN’ MOTHER FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! All I’VE DONE FOR DAYS IS SIT AROUND, WAITING AND HOPING FOR A PHONE CALL OR- OR **SOMETHING**!!!! I SHOULD’VE HELD ONTO HIM AND NEVER LET ‘IM GO, BUT I DIDN'T AND NOW I’M HEARING STORIES ABOUT SOME HORRIBLE ACCIDENT THAT HAPPENED ALL THE WAY OVER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY IN STINKIN’ CALIFORNIA WHERE HE’S BEEN **BADLY HURT** AND NOW HE’S **MISSING**!!”

“He?” Fiske asked cautiously. “Please be specific, Mrs. Douglas; to whom are you referring? There were several people involved that have been recently reported as ‘missing’.”

Doug’s hands rested heavily upon his wife’s shoulders. “That’s enough shouting, Debbie-love,” he said lowly in a tone that brooked no argument. He huffed as his eyes hardened on the agent and said firmly, “He, as in our son, Dexter Lloyd Douglas, who also goes by the name of Freakazoid.”

There was a pregnant pause as Agent Fiske regarded the beleaguered parents, and then he sighed, producing a handkerchief and held it out to Mrs. Douglas. “My sincerest apologies, Sir and Madam…” He said softly. “It seems we’ve got off on the wrong foot. I was not aware that either of you knew.”

Debbie released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and gratefully took the kerchief to dab her eyes.

“I understand that you both have been under considerable duress,” said Fiske. “May we begin again so that I may share what I know of your son’s situation?”

“Please?” the Douglases asked in unison.

“Very well,” Said Fiske. “As an answer to your first question, Mrs. Douglas, my superiors and I do not know how your son escaped the hospital, but given his condition, his disappearance is likely the work of another source. As for his whereabouts, we’re conducting an investigation based on a few leads, which is what brought me here to you today.”

Debbie frowned. “Then why were you going to tell me that my son is dead?”

“To protect his secret identity, of course,” said Fiske.

“It’s not such a secret if I know it,” she accused.

“That may be true,” said Fiske. “However, outside of a select handful of people, to which the both of you are now included, the rest of the world has yet to make that association. The Global Justice organization respects the privacy of the superhuman populace it supervises and as such, does what it must to protect them and their families.”

Doug sighed, squeezing his wife’s shoulders reassuringly. “So..., does that mean if my wife and I hadn’t known, you would have had us believe our son to be dead?”

“Temporarily,” Fiske quickly replied. “Until the situation was under control, but your knowledge does change a few things.”

Doug arched a brow, “And that would be…?” 

“Crowd control,” said Fiske. 

Mr. and Mrs. Douglas exchanged glances. 

What would you have us do to protect our boy?” asked Doug.

“The media attention is a nuisance and in order to prevent an information leak, we have to be sure to inform all relations and prepare them for what they’re up against. With Freakazoid injured and missing in action that would also mean that Dexter is no longer present as well. Until he can be located, Global Justice has to act on his behalf since we’re unable determine how long he will remain missing. If anyone were to come to your door seeking information about Dexter, it would be your responsibility to behave as though you’d lost your son.”  
     
Debbie began to cry again. “I don’t want to!” 

“Maybe we should sit down,” said Doug. “We’ve had a rough couple a’days…” He moved his hand to rest gently at the small of his wife’s back and started to guide her to the kitchen. “How ‘bout some coffee, huh, Mr. Fiske? We can sit in the dining room and talk for a spell... That is, if you have the time?”

Fiske nodded his ascent. “I understand your predicament and yes, I do have a moment to spare and would fancy a cuppa.”

Doug lead his wife and agent Fiske to the dining table, then went to the kitchen, returning moments later with a tray laden with three full mugs of coffee along with spoons and the usual assortments of sugar (artificial sweetener for himself) and cream. He sat next to his wife with the agent sitting across from them with his back to the living room and sighed into his coffee mug. 

“Thank you,” said Fiske as he stirred cream and sugar into his mug. “Pardon my intrusion, but I can’t help but notice that you said your son was here for a time. May I ask why?”

“His birthday,” said Debbie. “I’d asked Dexter to come home since he hasn’t been by in such a long time, what and all with college first and then a full-time career. He’d gotten so wrapped up in his work that the years just seemed to fly by… I missed him so much…” She paused to sip her coffee, staring dolefully into her mug. “I’d also invited Duncan, our eldest, to join us to celebrate the occasion together as a family, but that turned out to be a bad idea.”

Noticing Agent Fiske’s confusion, Doug interjected, “Our boys haven’t always gotten along. They’re like night and day. They’ve struggled to let sleeping dogs lie and got into a nasty brawl, which ended up with Duncan getting his nose busted up real good. Dexter left immediately after that happened, then Duncan, he…”  Doug paused to look uneasily at his wife before continuing. “Duncan has always been pretty short-tempered, but it seems to have gotten worse in recent years. He blew up and said some things he shouldn’t have and was asked to leave earlier this morning…” 

With a heavy heart, Debbie lowered her eyes to stare forlornly at her lap. “Duncan couldn’t accept his brother...” she said quietly, voice heavy with emotion as the painful memory of her eldest son screaming in her face was still fresh in her mind. She had never seen such hatred in his eyes; he was like a man possessed. “He has had past encounters with ‘the blue guy’ as he liked to call him- Freakazoid that is… Doug and I never understood what he was talking about then. We just assumed he had an overactive imagination… Given his reaction to Dexter’s blue appearance, it became apparent to him that his brother and Freakazoid are one in the same and he just lost it- he was so furious…”

“Ah, I see…,” said Fiske. “Do you believe that in his anger, Duncan might try to do something ill-advised toward his brother or say something to someone about his alter ego?”

“Yes,” said Debbie, her right hand slipping into her husband’s larger left hand, fingers intertwining.

“That could present a problem,” Fiske said matter-of-factly. “Do you perchance know where Duncan might have gone?” 

“We don’t know,” said Doug. “We didn’t ask, though he might’ve gone to the airport- to where, though, we really don’t know. He travels a lot and is rarely ever at his apartment downtown, so it’s always been easier to call, text, or e-mail his smart phone since he’s always got it with him.”

“Hnn…” Fiske hummed as he took a draught of coffee, making a mental note to look further into the background of the man known as Duncan Douglas. “So, just to reconfirm what you’ve said, Dexter was in the form of Freakazoid at the time of his departure?”

“Yes,” said Debbie. “He was blue with the lightening on his head and such…”

Fiske nodded. “Another question, if I may… Do either of you recall Dexter ever mentioning going to La Jolla, California or if he said anything about going anywhere else with anyone he might be close to?”

Doug shrugged and shook his head, “Well, no, I don’t, but I was away at the emergency room with Duncan at the time Dexter left. As far as I know, he never mentioned where he was going or with whom…” He looked to his wife. “Honey, what exactly did Dexter say to you again?” 

“Oh…He didn’t say where, exactly,” Debbie replied. “Only that he had to go away for a while, but he’d be back… I just don’t know when or for how long…” She trailed off for a moment before continuing. “He was picked up by his good friends Cosgrove and Roddy, who looked like he’d gone blue like Freakazoid too. I just don’t know where they could have taken him. Dexter was in such a hurry to go.”

“I see,” said Fiske. “I’m aware of the identity of Cosgrove, but he wasn’t with your son at the hospital. However, I recall Roddy...” He was silent for a moment, briefly lost in thought before blinking back into awareness. “Ah yes, Roddy MacStew. He was at your son’s side the entire time, before, during, and after his disappearance from the hospital.”

Debbie’s face visibly brightened. “O-Oh REALLY?!” She looked up to the ceiling with a hand over her heart then back down to the agent seated across from her. “Well, bless his heart! I’m so glad to hear that! Roddy is such a nice man and is so very fond of our Dexter- has been since becoming his driving instructor back in his days at Harry Connick High!”

“In regards to Cosgrove, would that be the very same Inspector Cosgrove of the City of Washington, D.C. Police?”

“Ah, Yes!” Debbie said. “Although, he’s retired now, of course, but has always been Dexter’s good friend since-” She shrugged. “I dunno, probably for about as long as Dexter’s known Roddy. If you’d like to talk to Cosgrove, he lives on the other side of town, don’tcha you know…”

“I am aware,” said Fiske. “Cosgrove has been a constant companion to Freakazoid since his early days as a superhero… I will make a point of contacting him.”

Doug ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, "I’ll have to admit that my wife and I are a little concerned about those visitors Freakazoid received while in the hospital… The news said-” He turned to regard his wife, brows furrowed in consternation. “What were their names again, Peach-face?” 

Debbie’s brows shot up as her short lived joy returned to worry. “Oh, dear… Oh… That’s right, those fellows, some dreadful blue caveman, a cobra lady, and a mad doctor…” She gasped, “OH GOODNESS! They used to be on America’s Most Wanted!!!” She turned desperately to Agent Fisk, tears springing anew in her eyes. “You don’t think they had something bad in mind when they took Dexter, do you?”

Agent Fiske shook his head. “No. They were not there to endanger your son. However, I do believe they had a hand in his disappearance, but whose help they had or how they managed to escape undetected is still unknown. As for the individuals you mentioned, they’re more commonly known as Cave Guy and Cobra Queen, criminals that have long since reformed, married, had a son, and go by their given names, Royce and Audrey. In regards to their intentions, numerous witnesses have described that the couple’s actions at the hospital were of genuine concern. As for the “mad doctor” you mentioned, he goes by the name of Doctor Drakken and while his reputation as a criminal precedes him, he received a full pardon from the United Nations and a medal honoring his participation in bringing an end to the Lorwardian Invasion many years ago. Suffice to say, the Doctor may be many things, but he’s hardly mad.”

“Oh,” said Debbie, covering her mouth in surprise. “My goodness, I had no idea!”

Doug struck his own forehead with the butt of his hand. “Well, slap my head and call me silly!” He exclaimed. “I can’t believe I nearly forgot about that whole alien invasion thing… It was so surreal, like something out of an old horror B movie from the fifties…”

Fiske’s lips quirked, “Quite.”

Debbie shuddered, “I think we all wanted to put that out of our memories. Such dreadful creatures...”

Fiske smothered his chuckle with the edge of his coffee mug before taking a slow sip. “I speak from personal experience when I say that while Dr. Drakken can be a bit of a buffoon, he is, nevertheless, a well-intentioned buffoon with his heart in the right place, particularly now that he has the well-being of his family to consider.”

“You knew the Doctor?” Debbie asked her eyes wide with wonder.

Fiske nodded. “We’ve crossed paths a time or two…” ‘ _More times than I care mention_ ,’ he finished in thought. 

“My word..., such a small world we live in...”

Fiske bit back the urge to snicker and thought, ‘ _Woman, you have NO idea how right you are…_ ’ 

“You could say that again, hon!” Doug chuckled, and then paused as he remembered something. “Say… In some of the footage on the news, there was another elderly guy there, bald on top with flippy hair, big nose and glasses…”

“The old man?” asked Fiske.

Doug and Debbie both nodded.

“Ah, yes, Professor Roland Heiney,” said Fiske. “He is a close friend and a sort of unofficial fatherly figure of Doctor Drakken. Not surprisingly, the Professor also claims to know Freakazoid and considers him a family member.” He tipped back his head to drain the remains of his coffee and sat the mug down upon the tray it had arrived on. “With that said, you both can rest assured that Global Justice will do everything in its power to locate Dexter, but in knowing who he’s with, I ‘m confident that wherever he is, he’s safe and in capable hands.”

**To Be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> – 0 – 0 Author’s Notes 0 – 0 –
> 
> Ultraspank’s song “Where” is what inspired me for this chapter so check it out and have a listen!
> 
> I’m sure that after finishing this chapter, Duncan will officially be on everybody’s shit list. As a shout out to all my long-time followers who have been watching my DeviantArt gallery, you know he’ll eventually redeem himself, but for the time being, if you feel like dragon kicking him square in the junk for blowing up and makin’ his mama cry, be my guest. He probably deserves it because he’s a douche-canoe that gets taken advantage of by an even bigger, er shorter, but ridiculously rich douche-canoe with gray skin, an anubis scepter, and a creepy watch that can turn pigeons to stone- because seriously, fuck that guy. What’d the pigeons ever do to him? But yeah, Duncan is going to get a whoooole lot worse before he gets better. So, thank yer holy flaming rollerblading Jibbers Crabst that Freakazoid and his crazy bunch of friends help Duncan see the light and join the jedi force of good.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your patience! I know it’s taken forever to post a new chapter! This is the last filler chapter to bring depth to the story before I return to Freakazoid and co. If you’re wondering, Chapter 14 is when Freakazoid finally makes the first steps to recovery after receiving a little intervention from the resident boogey-man (if you catch my drift). ^_^ Check out my gallery on DeviantArt if you want to see some nifty art-related stuff for this story! There’s tons of it and I’ve made absolutely no attempt to hide what I intend to write for the future of this epic tale!
> 
> In the Freakazoid cartoon I psychoanalyzed all the characters to pick up any little behavorial quirks, their activities, all the little subtle nuances, etc, shared between parents and their children.  
> Mr. Douglas, for the most part, is more meek and introspective, but prone to paranoia and panic/emotionally driven outbursts like shouting at the kids that he’ll “harpoon em” or “butter their heads” when they’re being roudy or when he’s holding a camera after taking a family photo at the museum “Did it flash? DID IT FLASH?!” and his wife calmly and matter-of-factly replies, “No.”  
> For the most part, Mrs. Douglas is ‘relatively’ calm and placating to her husband, particularly during his outbursts. Despite how kind of addled, crazy (not in a senile kind of way), just slightly off kilter and a little delusional. When she’s not lost in the fog of her own delusions, she’s surprisingly sharp as a tack (for the most part) and suffers from verbal diarrhea by speaking what she thinks without the filter (which is incredibly obvious in the show).
> 
> I have a lot of fun reflecting the influence of their personalities through Dexter and Duncan, particularly in how they share their parents’ looks. Dexter has his father’s coloring, but is smaller than his brother and father, and leaner/scrawny like his mother. Duncan has the coloring of his mother’s Irish heritage, what and all with the pale skin and carrot top and her green eyes. In this chapter, it appears the roles have reversed a little since Mama Douglas is distraught and emotional and dammit she’s MAMA and everyone must hear her ROAR about her BABY!! :) So, Mr. Douglas has to be the calm one this time around because he worries about her anxiety because she’s a worry-wart, suffers from anxiety, and she’s a tad bit too hyperactive. :P Papa has to put his foot down and make everybody settle.  
> In terms of family traits, I’m just going to assume Mrs. Douglas is Irish, but I haven’t thought up a maiden name for her yet, but I’m working on that in case it should be relevant to the story in any way. I also figured that with a name like ‘Douglas’, which is surname that is distinctively Scottish in origin, means that Mr. Douglas’ heritage stems from Scotland, so all that mixed up spells for a lot of silly, crazy, personality antics among family members. (I happen to be half Scott-Irish from both sides of my family (both grandmothers are Irish), so I can relate. The rest of my heritage from my grandfathers’ is a soup of French, British, and German stemming from the Pennsylvania Dutch. I may use some of my own family tree genealogy study as an influence on how I want to manage Duncan and Dexter’s heritage because it works out pretty well.
> 
> I had a funny thought that Freakazoid with his blue skin and dark crazy lightening hair and would say, "I'm both Scottish and Irish!!" and people would look at him like ಠ_ಠ "Wut?"


End file.
